


better to burn out (than to rust)

by InterstellarBlue (nagi_schwarz)



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, M/M, Stealth Crossover, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 75,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/InterstellarBlue
Summary: Broke college student Dongmin wins a brand new persocom, the Jinjin Pro. Only he has a flaw.Featuring overthinking law student Dongmin, adorable persocom Jinwoo, helpful cousin Myungjun, hot persocom Bin, talented dancer Minhyuk, in a mash-up of Chobits, Are You Human Too?, and Absolute Boyfriend.
Relationships: Kim Myungjun | MJ & Moon Bin, Lee Dongmin | Cha Eunwoo/Park Jinwoo | Jin Jin
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39
Collections: K-pop and K-drama AUs, Story Works, What If? AU Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the story_works scifi challenge and the What If AU Robots challenge. Thanks to the mods for being forgiving about the deadlines, and to the amazing vonseal for doing a super speedy beta on this.
> 
> Inspired by Astro's Pepero Making Vlive and my friends on the Aroha discord, Jay and Selenic. 
> 
> So this happened on the Aroha Discord server:
> 
> "Belatedly, “jinjin pro” sounds like the latest model of robo-jinjin  
> Just $9.99 a month for jinjin pro"
> 
> "There’s a robot AU right there"
> 
> "You’re right"
> 
> "Now updated with the latest feature: pepero making!"
> 
> "Poor broke student Eunwoo staring through the glass at pretty robo Jinjin on a pedestal with an impossible price tag  
> Lonely on Pepero Day"
> 
> "so sad and so single"
> 
> "He enters a sweepstakes advertised on a flyer being handed out by a kid wearing a sandwich board outside the shop  
> And miraculously wins jinjin pro"
> 
> "of course his model is the one with a slight imperfection—it develops feelings"

* * *

The autumn chill cut through Dongmin’s thin jacket, and he pulled it tighter as he hurried down the sidewalk toward the bus stop to catch the bus back to his little basement apartment. He’d been at the library late so he could finish his research paper, and if he missed this bus he’d have to walk home. He lived far from campus because housing close to campus was expensive, and he couldn’t afford a cab, and it was so, so cold. November was still technically autumn, but it felt like winter had come already, and Dongmin didn’t have a really good winter coat. Most days he layered a sweater under his old school uniform blazer, which he’d carefully picked the embroidered school insignia off of. His winter uniform blazer was made of decent wool, but he’d grown since high school, and the sleeves were just short enough to let the cold in.

The research paper was a third of his entire grade, and this class counted toward his major, and he needed to get a good score. 

If he had a computer of his own, he could head straight home after classes and hunker down in the relative warmth of his apartment and work there, but he had to rely on the computers in the library, the bland, plain-faced persocoms from three generations back who still looked sort of like crash-test dummies, as opposed to the persocoms who looked like idols and drama stars, like the ones he could see wandering the streets on the arms of their owners, smiling and laughing.

A bright banner caught Dongmin’s eye, and he paused.

“Celebrate Pepero Day with the Jinjin Pro: Now updated with the latest feature - Pepero Making!”

Dongmin turned and read the sign fully.

It was pink and purple and mint and other soft pastel colors, obviously aimed at young women and teen girls, and featured a sweet-faced persocom boy made to look about Dongmin’s age smiling and wearing an apron as he made pretty pepero.

Was it Pepero Day? Dongmin glanced at his watch, which had the date built into the watch face. His watch was analog and was light-powered. His cellphone was a flip phone, and besides making phone calls it only sent text messages. He’d been able to get into a very prestigious university on the power of his grades, but his parents had been in just that sector of the income bracket where he didn’t qualify for a scholarship but they also couldn’t afford to pay for his tuition, but he also didn’t qualify for much in the way of student loans, so everything he had was analog and cheap, and he was working himself to the bone and broke.

He didn’t have a computer, and there was no way he could afford a fancy persocom like the brand new Jinjin Pro, which was —

Dongmin saw the price in the bottom corner of the banner and nearly choked.

Just ₩99,990 a month for thirty-six months.

Dongmin pressed his face to the glass and saw an actual model of the Jinjin Pro sitting on a pedestal behind the wide glass window just beneath the manner, beaming and waving. He was wearing an oversized gray cable knit sweater and had sweater paws and wore blue jeans that were kind of ripped at the knees and had on white sneakers, and he looked like the kind of guy Dongmin would think was cute if he saw him on campus.

Beside the Jinjin Pro a monitor played a video of another Jinjin Pro (the same Jinjin Pro?) moving confidently around a brightly-lit kitchen, wielding an icing bag and decorating pepero sticks with chocolate and sprinkles and nuts and smiling at the camera. Belatedly, Dongmin noticed a cable trailing from the Jinjin Pro’s earport to the monitor. 

Making pepero with a cute boy on Pepero Day would be so much fun for a date. When had Dongmin ever gone on a date? Never. He’d promised his father he wouldn’t date when he was in high school, and now he was in his first year of university and he didn’t have time to date because he was working hard and studying harder, and it seemed like everyone else around him was having fun, either with their friends or boyfriends and girlfriends or even with their persocoms.

Dongmin took a deep breath and stepped back.

No. He didn’t have time to date. And Pepero Day was a scam anyway. It was just Lotte’s way of trying to make extra money off of a sentimental Korean public. Even if Dongmin were dating someone, he wouldn’t need pepero to prove it.

Although homemade pepero would be a very affectionate gesture, wouldn’t it?

The Jinjin Pro behind the window looked at Dongmin and smiled, waved.

Dongmin’s heart melted, and he pressed his face to the glass again.

Several girls crowded close to the glass beside Dongmin.

“Wow, look at him! He’s so handsome. I’d work two jobs to be able to buy him.”

“I know! I’d make pepero with him all the time.”

“He’s kind of short, though.”

“Yeah, but I’m not that tall.”

Dongmin scanned the specs on the standing cardboard sign beside the pedestal the Jinjin Pro was sitting on. Only 169 centimetres? That wasn’t so short. Dongmin wouldn’t mind being the tall one in a relationship if he were dating.

Not that he’d be one of those weirdos who dated his persocom.

His cousin, Myungjun, had a super fancy gaming persocom, and he seemed half in love with the thing, but then he’d customized it and upgraded it a lot, put a lot of love into it, so Dongmin supposed he could understand that.

Dongmin took another deep breath. Pepero Day wasn’t that big a day in the grand scheme of things. He’d spent a lot of time learning about Remembrance Day and Armistice Day and Veterans Day in history class earlier today. If he was going to do something for November Eleventh, he should learn how to make a paper poppy, or read some poetry from World War One to practice his English.

And he should catch his bus home.

Dongmin yanked his jacket shut to stave off another blast of icy air and turned to go.

And then he saw the shivering boy wearing a sandwich board standing near the doors of the Fantagio Computers outlet, handing out flyers.

“Enter to win your very own Jinjin Pro! No purchase necessary!”

Dongmin, as a law student, was an expert at finding loopholes. But he also looked up at the Jinjin Pro, who was posing on the pedestal and making heart signs at the girls who were crowded up against the window and waving at him, and he thought of how nice it would be, to have a computer of his own so he wouldn’t have to be out in the cold all winter after studying late at the library.

So he headed over to the boy, who looked crestfallen after the flyer he’d held out to someone fluttered sadly to the ground.

“When you say no purchase necessary,” Dongmin began.

The boy — his nametag read Yoon Sanha — beamed and showed off a smile laden with braces. He was probably still in high school, poor little part timer. Even though he was taller than Dongmin he was obviously younger, and Dongmin wanted to give the kid his jacket even though it wouldn’t fit.

“You don’t have to buy anything,” Sanha said. “All you have to do is fill out a form and you’ll automatically be entered into the sweepstakes.”

“What’s the catch?”

“You’ll be added to an email list with offers for sales and coupons, but you can always unsubscribe.” Sanha shrugged, but the shrug turned into a shiver.

“Okay,” Dongmin said. “I’ll sign up. But — a brand new Jinjin Pro? Just to get more people added to the mailing list? Seems like an expensive model to give away.”

“I think the one they’re giving away has some minor factory defect, one no one would notice but because of it they can’t sell the unit full price, so.” Sanha shrug-shivered again. 

“Well, where do I sign up?”

Sanha turned and called over his shoulder, “Dalkong, we have another customer signing up for the Jinjin Pro sweepstakes.”

For a moment, Dongmin was startled, because the persocom who stepped out of the shadow of the store’s doorway looked just like Cousin Myungjun’s beloved Bin, but it just must have been the same base model, tall and handsome and athletic-looking.

“Just answer a few questions and tell it your name and email address and phone number,” Sanha said, smiling.

Dongmin did, provided his age range and year in school and income.

The persocom — Dalkong — recited the information back. His voice sounded similar to Bin’s, but flat and lifeless; Myungjun had programmed his Bin to have sass and energy and a personality and a really cute little giggle. Myungjun liked cute things — and also vicious things, since he was pretty savage himself, and when he was gaming online and slaughtering his opponents while laughing all the way to the finish line, Bin was laughing there with him.

Sanha said, “You are entered into the sweepstakes! Results will be announced in the next week or so. Best of luck!”

“Thanks,” Dongmin said. He added, “Stay warm.”

Sanha smiled and shivered again. “Thank you. You too.”

Dongmin nodded and inclined his head, and then looked at his watch, and — dammit. He’d missed his bus. He had to walk back to his apartment. And it was only going to get colder.

Oh well. 

If he kept moving, he’d stay warm, right?

Sort of. 

By the time he made it back to his apartment almost an hour later, his thighs and arms were a little numb. He hurried down the stairs and into his apartment and locked the door, took a quick hot shower to wash away the grime of the day and warm up, and then ate some dinner before he fell into bed, exhausted.

Right before he fell asleep, he remembered to text his mother and father and little brother.

_ Happy Pepero Day. _

He also texted Cousin Myungjun.

_ Happy Pepero Day. _

Myungjun’s response was filled with kaomojis Dongmin’s ancient fliphone couldn’t quite handle and that read as blank boxes and also,  _ Happy Pepero Day from me and my darling Binnie! _

The accompanying selca was a bit grainy and pixelated and too big for Dongmin’s tiny screen to handle, but it was of Myungjun and Bin cuddled close together and winking at the camera. The way the picture was taken, Bin’s ear ports weren’t quite visible, and if Dongmin didn’t know better, he’d have thought they were a happy couple.

The selca was quickly followed up by another picture of the two of them facing each other, both nibbling on opposite ends of the same pepero stick.

Dongmin sighed and put his phone on its charger and rolled over, closed his eyes.

Tomorrow was just another day.

* * *

The next day, Dongmin rose, washed, threw on clean clothes, gathered up his books, snagged his phone off the charger, and ate a couple of pieces of triangle kimbap before he legged it to the bus stop.

He made it to his first class on time, and he plopped down at his usual desk and spread out his notebook and pens, prepared to do his best to keep up with his professor.

Professor Do had about five cups of coffee before his first lecture of the day, and he spoke very quickly, and he wasn’t all that forgiving about slowing down and repeating himself. Dongmin had always been known for having lovely handwriting, but in his efforts to keep up with the man, the legibility of his handwriting suffered, and with it the quality of his notes, and with them his grades.

Jung Sungmin sat a couple of seats down from Dongmin, his pretty female persocom Sooah beside him.

“Record as soon as lecture begins,” Sungmin said.

“Yes, oppa,” Sooah said, beaming and fluttering her eyelashes at him.

Sungmin ducked his head and blushed even though he’d picked Sooah himself and no doubt instructed her to call him  _ oppa. _

Lee Jihyo drifted into the lecture hall, her persocom walking beside her. Her persocom was also female and named Jungboon, and Jihyo was discussing weekend social plans with her.

“Do you think we should go to the party, or no? Is it going to be cold this weekend?”

“According to the forecast, it will be nineteen degrees this weekend,” Jungboon said politely.

Jihyo hummed thoughtfully.

Jungboon said, “If you wear your padded coat, you will be warm enough to attend a rooftop party for three and a half hours and remain comfortable.”

Jihyo smiled. “All right. Let’s go!”

Kwon Yoonbyul also had a persocom, a slightly older model male. He was always dressed neatly. Like his owner, however, he was not particularly animated. He sat beside her, very still, while she took notes by hand.

“Yeonggu, record the lecture,” she said.

“Yes, Yoonbyul-ssi,” he said.

“Are you ever going to give him a real name?” Jihyo asked.

Yoonbyul didn’t look up from her notebook. “He’s model Zero Nine, and his name is Yeonggu.”

Dongmin cleared his throat. “Do most people give their persocoms new names? Like — real names?”

“Most people,” Jihyo said, jutting her chin out at Yoonbyul. She petted Jungboon’s hair. 

“Persocoms are computers, not pets,” Yoonbyul said, unamused.

“Some people name their cars,” Song Taeil said. He had a laptop, which was tiny and doll-sized but still human-shaped. She was dancing on the desk beside him in screensaver mode. “And their musical instruments.”

“People don’t name their toasters,” Yoonbyul said.

“Doyeon is way more than a toaster,” Taeil said, and he reached out, cuddled her. She snuggled up to him, nuzzled under his chin like an affectionate kitten. “She reads me my emails and watches dramas with me and tells me jokes and helps me with my research and plays me music. Of course she deserves a name.”

“Does your smartphone have a name?” Yoonbyul asked, with a skeptical lift of her brow.

“Pikachu,” Taeil said.

Dongmin’s phone didn’t have a name, but his phone wasn’t smart either.

“Taeil’s a bad example,” Jihyo said.

“Yeah, but persocoms look like people,” Sungmin said. “And they act like people. Kind of like pets.”

“Pets are  _ alive,” _ Yoonbyul said. “Yeonggu, are you alive?”

“I am not,” he said flatly. 

“Are you thinking of getting a persocom?” Jihyo asked Dongmin.

“I’d like one so I didn’t have to stay late in the library all the time,” Dongmin said, “but they’re really expensive.”

“You could get a refurbished one,” Yoonbyul said pragmatically. “Yeonggu is a refurbished model.”

Dongmin winced. “Like I said. They’re really expensive.” He winced when the others  _ looked _ at him, taking in his analog watch, his weather-inappropriate jacket, his very old and beat-up leather bookbag that his father had used in university (but that had survived for all these years because it had been well taken care of).

“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” Taeil said. 

“I’m lucky to be at this university, so I should be grateful,” Dongmin said quietly. He turned back to his notebook just as Professor Do swept into the lecture hall.

More than one student, male and female, sighed dreamily. However pretty and handsome and perfect their persocoms were, Professor Do Minjoon was handsome and dreamy himself.

That didn’t stop him from being a rigorous instructor and a harsh grader.

Dongmin uncapped a pen with his teeth and poised to write.

* * *

After a full day of classes, Dongmin’s head ached, he was hungry, and his hand was cramped. He was pretty sure he would be able to decipher most of his notes. He considered, briefly, asking for copies of recordings of Professor Do’s lectures from Yoonbyul or maybe Jihyo, because they weren’t stingy about that sort of thing, but without a computer he had no way of playing them, and the thought of sitting in one of the library chairs for hours listening to them and taking more notes sounded exhausting.

Besides, he didn’t have time to do lectures over twice. He had to get to work.

Dongmin would be the first to admit that he had been blessed with good looks that he’d inherited from both of his parents. His mother was a beautiful woman. His father, while not exceptionally handsome, had gifted Dongmin with the right combination of genes so he was quite handsome, and so he’d managed to earn a job as a waiter at a nice restaurant downtown. Most waiting jobs these days were handled by persocoms, because they never got orders wrong, and they never dropped anything. They were never tired, and they never got upset at customers, and they were, in essence, the perfect wait staff. They were all also perfectly good-looking.

But some people still wanted the human touch, mostly older customers, and also some restaurants couldn’t afford to purchase a fleet of persocoms to use as wait staff (who could also process credit card payments on the spot). Dongmin had been lucky to be hired at this small family-owned restaurant.

Even though it wasn’t in a particularly trendy spot, Madam Jeon was a master chef, and her little hole-in-the-wall establishment had a Michelin Star. The only other waiter was her son, Minseok, and the other cook was her mother, who’d insisted Dongmin call her Granny just like Minseok. (Dongmin didn’t know what had happened to Minseok’s father, and he didn’t dare ask.)

Three days a week, on the busiest nights at the restaurant, Dongmin helped Minseok serve customers who came from all over the city and sometimes even far outside the city to enjoy Madam Jeon’s cooking. Dongmin wore a neat white button-down shirt, black slacks, black shoes he polished carefully before his shift, and a black apron, which he tied on tightly. He kept a pencil tucked behind his ear when he wasn’t taking orders, and he was always ready with a smile.

“How are you doing today, Dongmin-ah?” Granny asked.

“I am well, thank you, Granny.” Dongmin bowed and ducked into the little employee break room that was really a closet, where he and Minseok kept their bookbags while they worked.

Minseok had a little laptop, a small doll-sized unit that looked like a boy, whom Minseok had named Changkyun and was mostly used for video games. Changkyun was curled up, asleep on top of Minseok’s backpack like he always was when Minseok was working.

Where Minseok had just barely started high school and his grades were important, Dongmin did the majority of the serving so Minseok could hide in the back and focus on his studies.

“Heya, hyung,” Minseok said. “How are you?”

“I’m well. And you? How’s soccer?” Dongmin tied on his apron, smoothed out the creases. He checked his little leather folio, made sure it had enough pages in it to take orders that night, made sure his pencil was sharp.

“Soccer’s good! We won our match last Saturday.” Minseok beamed at him.

Dongmin smiled in return. “Congratulations. Did you get a cake to celebrate?”

Minseok nodded. “Mom baked it. It was amazing. She rarely bakes western stuff, but she’s really great at it. Maybe one day when you win something, she’ll bake for you.”

Dongmin had been a decent athlete in middle school and high school, on both the soccer and basketball teams, been a team captain in middle school before he’d had to focus more intently on academics in high school. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve won anything,” he said quietly.

He checked himself in the tiny mirror that hung above the desk, made sure he was presentable, and then he pasted on a smile and headed out onto the dining floor to greet the first guests hovering inside the door.

It wasn’t a bad shift. It was just a long shift. Dongmin smiled. Dongmin took orders. Dongmin delivered orders. Dongmin accepted payments. Dongmin made change.

When he wasn’t tending to customers, he did his best to help Minseok with his homework.

Everything was going well until a customer, a fussy middle-aged man in an expensive suit, said, “The saengseonjeon is overdone. Take it back. I refuse to eat another bite.”

Dongmin, who’d just served the table, wheeled around and returned. “Pardon?”

“Are you malfunctioning? I  _ said _ the saengseonjeon is overdone. I want a replacement,” the man said.

His dining companion, a teenage girl, looked embarrassed. “Uncle, he’s not a persocom. He has real ears.”

Dongmin lifted his hand to his ear, felt his cheeks flame. Then he reached out and scooped up the man’s platter. “Apologies, customer-nim. I’ll let the kitchen know right away.” He turned and fled for the kitchen.

“Dongmin-ah, is something wrong with the order?” Granny asked.

Dongmin set the platter on the counter. “The customer complained that the saengseonjeon is burnt and wants a replacement.”

Granny swept over to the counter and prodded the pan-fried fish with her chopsticks, turned them over with an expert flick of her wrist. Even though Madam Jeon had earned the Michelin Star with her culinary innovation and expertise, everything she’d learned about cooking she’d learned from her mother.

The batter on the fish was perfectly golden, not a burn mark in sight.

“He just doesn’t understand what a quality jeon batter is supposed to be like.” Granny clicked her tongue disapprovingly but also started battering some new pieces of fish. “Rudy-ah will be feasting well tonight.”

Rudy was Minseok’s massive pet German Shepherd.

Madam Jeon frowned at Dongmin. “Are you all right? Was the customer rude?”

“No, no more than I’ve handled before.” Dongmin managed a weak smile. “I’m sorry. Lectures were long today. I’ll go check on the other customers.”

Granny nodded. “I’ll call you when this is ready.”

“Give him half off the price of the dish and a free dessert,” Madam Jeon said, and Dongmin nodded.

He headed back out to the dining floor, where Minseok was taking an order at an adjacent table. 

“— Can’t believe you said something so rude,” the girl was saying.

“But I heard their son died and they replaced him with a persocom. People do weird things like that,” the man said. “Their sons wait tables here, remember?”

Dongmin cleared his throat and bowed.

The girl turned bright red.

“A replacement will be out soon, customer-nim,” Dongmin said. “Madam Jeon offers her apologies and a complimentary dessert, and half price on your entr󠂞ée this evening.”

The man also cleared his throat. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Is there anything I can get for you while you wait?”

The man shook his head, and Dongmin returned to the kitchen to clean some of the silverware to restock the silverware drawer at an unoccupied table till another table called him or Granny told him the replacement dish was ready.

When he served the replacement platter of saengseonjeon, the girl wouldn’t even look him in the eye, and he could feel the man staring at his ears.

Finally, the man said, “You’re remarkably handsome, for a real human.”

“Uncle!” the girl hissed.

Dongmin bowed and said, “I have been blessed by good genes from my parents.”

“Have you considered being a face model for a persocom?” the man asked. “People would probably pay to be able to look at you all the time.”

Dongmin blinked. “I have never heard of such a thing, customer-nim,” he admitted.

“Most persocom faces are idealizations, though some designs are based on real people. Even those are still altered and made perfect. You, though,” the man said. “Your face wouldn’t need to be changed at all.”

Unease prickled along Dongmin’s skin. Finally he bowed and said, “Your words are too kind, customer-nim. I’m just an ordinary university student. There are far more handsome men than me, actors and idols who would be much better suited to such a thing.”

“No, a famous face would be all wrong — too invasive of a celebrity’s privacy,” the man said. “But a poor, lonely college kid like you would be perfect. You could use the money, right?” 

He looked Dongmin up and down and saw what Dongmin’s classmates had seen earlier in the day, the threadbare cuffs on the sleeves of Dongmin’s shirt, his cheap watch, how tired and worn out he was beneath his polite smile.

Dongmin could use the money. He thought of the adorable little Jinjin Pro, sitting on a pedestal behind a pane of glass and waving with his little sweater paws, of endless winter nights walking home from the library in the freezing darkness.

Then Dongmin thought of Myungjun and his darling Bin, and the blank-faced Dalkong working with Sanha, and all the girls who’d crowded around the window to giggle over the Jinjin Pro, and he straightened his spine and said,

“Thank you for the generous offer, customer-nim, but I am very happy with my job here. Madam Jeon is a very benevolent employer.”

The man arched an eyebrow and said, “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.” He placed a business card on the table and then dug into his dish.

Dongmin nodded and bowed and fled for the kitchen once more.

“Dongmin-ah, was the customer satisfied?” Granny asked.

Dongmin nodded. “Yes, he was.”

Granny huffed. “Good. Picky bastard.”

Dongmin set about polishing the steel chopsticks with vigor, heart pounding. He’d almost said yes. 

After the end of his shift, he helped Minseok clean up the dining room, and then he headed for the bus stop.

He slumped against the little shelter wall, shivering and exhausted. All of this hard work would be worth it. Once he was finished with school and had a good job, he wouldn’t have to work so hard, right? Cousin Myungjun had completed one year of university, done his enlistment, and was enrolled in his second year of university, and he barely seemed stressed out, but then his parents had a lot more money, and his older brother was much older, had moved out and started supporting himself before Myungjun even reached high school.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Dongmin was pretty sure his life would be exponentially easier if he had a computer of his own. He’d have entertainment, access to research resources, better study resources, and companionship. He couldn’t even have a goldfish in his apartment.

The bus pulled in to the stop, and there, on the side of it, was an ad for the new Jinjin Pro.

In the picture he looked so cute and sweet, but of course that was only one setting option. If Yoonbyul could afford a Jinjin Pro, he’d be just as boring and emotionless as Yeonggu, and he’d probably still be called Jinjin Pro.

Dongmin couldn’t help but smile and wave at the picture, remembering the sweet-faced persocom in the window at the big Fantagio Computers outlet close to campus.

He hoped Yoon Sanha wasn’t working too late tonight, was home and warm and safe.

Dongmin climbed onto the bus, counted out exchange change in coins for student fare, and slumped into a seat near the back.

At least tomorrow was a Saturday, and he could sleep in before he headed to the library for a marathon study session.

“Yeah,” he told his reflection, his persocom-worthy face. He could  _ be _ a persocom, but he couldn’t own one. “It’s been a long time since I’ve won anything.”

* * *

Dongmin woke the next morning slowly, easily, without the shrill beep of the alarm on his phone. The autumn sunlight was thin and weak where it peeked around the edges of the blinds, but that meant he’d slept in a decent amount. He squinted at his watch, then rolled out of bed.

He did some push-ups and sit-ups and lunges and squats and pull-ups in the doorway to wake himself up, then showered. He ate the last of his triangle kimbap — tomorrow he’d have to make a new batch for next week — and gathered up his supplies so he could spend a day at the university library putting the finishing touches on his research paper and doing his chapter outlines for his reading. He liked to get ahead on his reading as much as possible so he could listen attentively in lectures, especially in Professor Do’s class, so if he had any questions on material he didn’t understand he could ask them, and also so if teachers assigned supplemental reading he didn’t feel like he was falling behind.

Dongmin stared at his bulging leather satchel and thought it probably needed a good polish this weekend, and then he went to find his jacket. He considered a nice sweater to layer with it, and also some gloves and a scarf, and maybe he ought to see about picking up a hat at a thrift store, though he’d never been much for hats before, and finally he opened the front door.

“Congratulations!”

Dongmin backpedaled swiftly, clutching his chest in shock.

Yoon Sanha, the boy from the computer store, was on his doorstep, beaming.

He was accompanied by two older men in jumpsuits who were wheeling a tall crate between them.

“What are you doing here?” Dongmin asked.

“Didn’t you check your email?” Yoon Sanha tilted his head and looked puzzled.

“I don’t have a computer,” Dongmin said. “I use the computers at the university library. I was about to head there now. Why? What’s going on?”

“Hit it,” Sanha said to the older men, and they started opening the crate.

“You are the lucky winner of a brand new Jinjin Pro!” Sanha cheered and fired off a little confetti cannon.

The crate swung open.

Dongmin stared at the boy — no, the persocom inside. The Jinjin Pro looked like he was sleeping, hands folded on his chest, eyes closed, head tilted slightly. He wore a gray jumpsuit with the Fantagio logo on the pocket.

He was adorable.

Sanha waved his hands like a game show hostess displaying a prize. “The Jinjin Pro comes with a state-of-the-art 40cmx60cm OLED monitor for your home and a tablet for when you’re on the go. Of course, all the necessary charge cables are included.”

Dongmin blinked. “I won? Really?”

Sanha nodded and beamed. “Congratulations! If you’d be willing to pose for a picture for the website, that would be great, but obviously you don’t have to. Also, we’d need you to sign this waiver, since this unit has some minor factory defects that make it ineligible for the usual warranty.”

Dongmin peered at the sleeping persocom, but he looked flawless, with ice-blond hair and soft pale skin. “He looks fine to me.”

Dalkong stepped up from behind the two delivery men and held out a tablet.

Dongmin hesitated for only a moment before signing it. Myungjun was a computer genius; he could fix the persocom if there were any problems. No one in Dongmin’s or Myungjun’s families ever bothered with computer warranties.

“Will you pose for a picture, or no?” Sanha asked.

“Ah, sure,” Dongmin said. “Do I look all right?”

Sanha raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever looked in a mirror?”

“Um, should we wake him up? The Jinjin Pro. So he can be in the picture too,” Dongmin said.

“He’ll be in startup mode and won’t be customized, but he’ll respond to basic commands,” Sanha said. “But you’re right. That’ll make for a better picture. You want to do the honors?”

Dongmin nodded. “Sure.” He couldn’t quite believe it. He’d actually won. He had a persocom of his own now. He wouldn’t have to go to the library today. He could stay in his apartment, warm and cozy, and study and work hard and be comfortable.

He reached into the crate and opened one of the earports and found the on switch. He took a deep breath, and then he pressed it.

There was a faint humming noise, and then the Jinjin Pro opened his eyes. He stepped out of the crate and bowed politely and said,

“Hello, I’m Jinjin Pro. Enter setup mode or run display mode?”

His voice was surprisingly deep, for how small and cute he was, but his tone was as flat and lifeless as Yoonbyul’s Yeonggu.

“Run display mode for now,” Sanha said easily. “Come take a picture with us, okay?”

“Cute mode or flirty mode or friendly mode?” Jinjin Pro asked.

“Cute mode is fine,” Sanha said. “Dalkong, take a picture.”

Sanha stepped up on one side of Jinjin Pro, so Dongmin stepped up on the other and pasted on a smile.

Jinjin Pro framed his face with his hands and winked, and Dongmin’s heart stopped racing long enough to melt. He was just as adorable as Dongmin remembered, even  _ more _ adorable up close.

Dalkong framed one eye with his thumbs and index fingers, like someone pretending to take a picture, and also winked, and there was a sound like a shutter click, and Dongmin realized — he really had taken a picture. His eye was a camera. 

“Congratulations,” Sanha said again, and bowed to Dongmin. “Enjoy your new persocom.”

The two delivery men carried two more boxes into Dongmin’s little apartment, set them on the coffee table, and then they departed with Sanha and Dalkong.

The large box was probably the monitor, and the smaller box was probably the tablet.

“Ah, hello, Jinjin Pro,” Dongmin said. He cast about. The only furniture he had was a couple of bean bag chairs Myungjun had insisted he purchase for when guests came over, though the only guest he’d ever had besides his parents and younger brother had been Myungjun. “Um. Have a seat.”

Jinjin Pro sat on the floor just inside the door.

Dongmin pushed the door shut. Right. He had to be careful what he said, because Jinjin Pro, for all that he looked quite human, was not. He was a machine, and they understood language differently.

“Um, do you want a new name? I can’t keep calling you Jinjin Pro.”

Jinjin Pro blinked at him. “Would you like to enter setup mode now?”

“Ah, yes.” Dongmin kicked off his shoes and nudged them into place beside the front door. 

Jinjin Pro, he noticed, was barefoot. Would Dongmin have to buy clothes for him? Jihyo always made sure Jungboon had cute outfits. Could Dongmin afford to buy a whole new wardrobe for his persocom? Jinjin Pro was noticeably shorter than him. Jinjin Pro could probably fit his shirts but not his jeans. Although he could just roll the jeans up, maybe. Jinjin Pro wouldn’t need winter clothes or anything. Although Dongmin shouldn’t let him get wet, should he? Persocoms shouldn’t get wet. And they shouldn’t get cold either, because that drained the battery faster.

“Primary language detected as Korean,” Jinjin Pro said. “To choose another language, enter commands in that language.”

“No, Korean is fine,” Dongmin said.

“To continue setup, please connect to internet or wifi,” Jinjin Pro said.

Dongmin sighed. He had neither, because up till this very moment, he’d had no computer. “Ah — can you just...hold? Go back to display mode? Friendly mode? While I make a quick phone call.”

“Display mode activated,” Jinjin Pro said. He tilted his head. “Am I your hyung or your dongsaeng?”

Dongmin blinked. “Ah - hyung. Jinjin-hyung.” He scrambled for his phone and hit the fourth number on speed dial.

It rang five times before Myungjun answered with an annoyed,  _ “What?” _

“Hey, I don’t have internet or wifi. Can I borrow yours?” Dongmin said.

“This early on a Saturday? What for? You don’t have a computer.”

“I do now.”

“What?”

“You work for Fantagio Computers, right? One of them has an outlet near the campus,” Dongmin said.

“So?”

“Check their website,” Dongmin said.

Myungjun grumbled and said, “Bin, check Fantagio’s homepage.”

There was a pause and then, “You  _ won _ a brand new Jinjin Pro? Bring him over here. I want to see. He’s so cute!”

“As cute as me?” Bin demanded.

“You’re hot. It’s different,” Myungjun said.

“I need to connect him to the internet to set him up,” Dongmin said.

“Not a problem. Take all the time you need.”

“I need to study sometime today,” Dongmin said, “because I have work later.”

“You can leave your pretty little Jinjin Pro with me while you work. I want to see what makes him tick —”

“Under  _ no _ circumstances will you fiddle with him. I need him for school. But thanks, hyung. We’ll be over there as soon as possible.”

“Look at you, all protective of your little Jinjin Pro already. Just like the rest of us experienced persocom daddies.”

“Don’t say  _ daddy;  _ that’s so creepy. See you in a bit.” Dongmin stood up. “Um. Jinjin-hyung. You can borrow some of my clothes and a pair of my shoes. We’re going to visit my cousin Myungjun. He has internet.” 

Jinjin rose up smoothly, with dancer-like grace, and followed Dongmin into the bedroom. Dongmin poked in his closet and found a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a sweater. He found a pair of socks and also some sneakers that he could lace up tightly and that Jinjin hopefully wouldn’t trip in.

“I’ll buy you a pair of shoes that fit as soon as I can, but I don’t have a lot of money. Maybe Myungjun-hyung has an old pair he can lend you. He’s about your size.” Dongmin held out the clothes. “You can change into these.”

“Thank you,” Jinjin said, and unzipped his jumpsuit.

Dongmin yelped and clapped his hands over his eyes.

“I’m sorry, did I make you anxious?” Jinjin asked. He sounded amused.

Right. He was in friendly mode. He knew how to joke. Dongmin had heard persocoms joking with their owners before. The first time Dongmin had heard Jihyo talking to Jungboon, he’d thought they were a pair of friends, and then he’d looked over and seen Jungboon’s ears.

Dongmin peeked through his fingers at Jinjin, who was stepping out of his jumpsuit.

Beneath the jumpsuit, Jinjin had more smooth golden skin and sleek muscles, was wearing boxer briefs, and he didn’t look cute, he looked  _ hot _ . 

Dongmin felt his face flame.

But then Jinjin pulled on Dongmin’s clothes and rolled up the bottoms of the jeans to look like stylish cuffs. With the little sweater paws he looked very cute, just like the model in the window Dongmin had seen.

Jinjin pulled on the socks and followed Dongmin back out to the main room.

Dongmin put on his own shoes, then knelt and helped Jinjin with the sneakers.

“Be careful, because these are much too big for you,” Dongmin said, lacing them up extra tight. “Hold onto me if you need to. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Jinjin said. He peered up at Dongmin. “What should I call my dongsaeng?”

“You can call me Dongmin. Dongmin is fine.”

“I’m ready, Dongmin,” Jinjin said, and smiled.

Dongmin grabbed his satchel, made sure he had his wallet, phone, and keys, and he led Jinjin to the bus stop. 

“So, even though you’re in display mode, will you remember things I tell you?” Dongmin asked. 

“My learning algorithm is very advanced,” Jinjin said. “I can find my way back to your apartment if necessary.”

Dongmin remembered how Yoonbyul had asked Yeonggu if he was alive, and he’d said no. Persocoms were very self-aware. “Ah...Sanha-ssi said you had a factory defect. Do you know what it is?” Dongmin eyed Jinjin, but his face was flawless, and his ears looked fine, and from the brief glimpse Dongmin had had of the rest of Jinjin’s body, he was quite fine.

Jinjin said, “I’m unaware of any flaws or errors in my hardware or software. After setup, I can run a diagnostic and let you know what I find.”

“Great. Thanks.” Dongmin smiled tightly and fell silent when an old man shuffled into the bus shelter and perched on the edge of the bench.

Dongmin rose up and said, “Jinjin, make room.”

Jinjin scooted over obediently.

The old man squinted at Dongmin and inclined his head. “Thank you, young man. It’s nice to see that young people are polite these days.” Then he glanced at Jinjin. “Of course, you young people are so protective of your computers as well.”

“Oh. Well. It’s just — he’s brand new and I’ve never owned a computer before and I need him for school so I can do well and get a good job and take care of my parents,” Dongmin stammered, blushing.

The old man nodded and stroked his beard. “I remember when I got my first car. I took good care of her, and she took good care of me, was with me for many years.” Then the man reached out and patted Jinjin’s head. “You’re a cute little fellow.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jinjin said, bowing politely.

The old man laughed. “So polite. Of course your owner programmed you to be polite. They say pets and owners become alike. The same can be said for computers and owners as well, hm?”

The bus arrived then. Dongmin helped the old man onto the bus, then waved for Jinjin to go ahead of him.

“One student ticket, and one persocom ticket,” Dongmin said, counting out coins carefully. He really hadn’t considered the additional expense of having a persocom, had he? Clothes, shoes, bus tickets, wifi at his apartment, the increase in his electricity bill. At least he wouldn’t need to buy Jinjin food.

Persocom tickets were the same price as children’s tickets, which were cheaper than student tickets, thankfully. The driver barely paid Jinjin any heed, just nodded and pressed a couple of buttons on the fare machine, and Dongmin put the coins into the fare machine machine, and then led Jinjin to a pair of seats beside a window.

There was only one other persocom on the bus, an older model female accompanying a small boy, which was a fairly common sight. Some working parents used persocoms as babysitters if both parents worked. 

“Cousin Myungjun works at a Fantagio Computers store in his neighborhood,” Dongmin said to Jinjin. 

Even though Jinjin was a computer, he really did  _ look _ like a person, was a warm and solid presence beside Dongmin on the seat, and Dongmin felt sort of compelled to make conversation.

“He’s majoring in architecture at university, but he really likes gaming and computers and has learned a lot about computers on his own,” Dongmin continued. “He has a persocom of his own, named Bin. Maybe you and Bin could be...friends…?”

Jinjin stared out the window as the bus pulled away from the stop.

In dramas, persocoms always made friends with Roombas, but never really with other persocoms, because they were loyal to their owners (or, perhaps, their programmers, if it was an espionage sort of drama).

“Bin was the same base model as Dalkong, from earlier today, so they’ll look really similar, but Myungjun customized him a lot to make him more powerful for gaming and gaming streams and stuff. I probably won’t customize you a lot because I’m not very good at that sort of thing. Mostly I’ll just use you for school and studying and maybe video calling my family a bit. They have an older-model persocom at home that they saved up a lot to buy when my dad got a nice work bonus about a month ago. Growing up I always used the computers at school too.” Dongmin felt like an idiot, babbling at a machine.

Jinjin was just a machine, not a person. He didn’t feel uncomfortable if no one was making conversation.

And yet Dongmin thought of Jinjin as  _ he _ and not  _ it, _ because that seemed terribly rude.

The bus ride to Myungjun’s house would take about an hour.

Dongmin hugged his satchel to his chest, nervous. “Listen, I don’t have a lot of money, so I can’t buy you lots of cute clothes and things, but if — if there’s something you really need so you can operate optimally, or if there’s something you really really want, tell me, and I’ll see if I can save up for it.”

Jinjin turned to look at him and smiled. “Don’t worry. This hyung doesn’t care if you have a lot of money or not. That’s not why I’m here.”

Right. Jinjin was in friendly mode. But the knot of anxiousness in Dongmin’s chest loosened a little.

“Thanks,” he said, a little helplessly.

“What are you studying in school?” Jinjin asked.

“Law,” Dongmin said. “I want to be a prosecutor, or maybe even a judge.”

Jinjin nodded. “Justice is important.” He looked out the window again.

Dongmin looked out as well. “Is this your first time seeing all this?”

“Yes,” Jinjin said. “I came from the factory a week ago and was mostly in storage at the store until they delivered me to you this morning.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s — do you like what you see, so far?” Dongmin asked.

“I’ve seen several puppies out on walks with their owners,” Jinjin said. “I have plenty of information about puppies and dogs and many kinds of animals stored in my internal database, but I’ve never encountered one for myself. Puppies are very cute.”

“Maybe one day, when I have some money saved up, we can go to a puppy café,” Dongmin said.

“Most animals dislike persocoms. They are aware we are not human even though we closely resemble them, for the most part.” Jinjin turned back to Dongmin. “Besides studying law, what else do you do?”

“I work,” Dongmin said. “I have to work so I can afford my rent and tuition. I worked a lot of jobs during the break between high school and university, and during breaks I take on extra work to get ahead, but it’s not easy.”

“If you wish to play video games or watch dramas or listen to music, I have the latest video cards and sound cards so you can have an optimal entertainment experience,” Jinjin said. “The monitor I came with has excellent built-in speakers, but some people prefer to purchase additional speakers for surround-sound.”

Dongmin blinked. “Ah, no, I’m sure the monitor is fine.”

“Don’t forget, I can make pepero, if you ever want to bake together.” Jinjin grinned at him.

“Right,” Dongmin said faintly. Pepero Day had only been two days ago. Had it really only been two days since he’d stood outside a window and stared longingly at a Jinjin Pro and known it was impossible for him to have one? And yet here he was, with an actual Jinjin Pro beside him.

“No, I was never much for video games. I do like listening to music. I used to play music. I learned to play piano, but I don’t have access to a piano anymore. I’ve probably forgotten how,” Dongmin said quietly. He’d spent so many hours in the practice room playing scales and memorizing music, learning music theory, about majors and minors, melodies and harmonies.

He stared down at his hands. He didn’t miss the stress of recitals.

But he did miss the freedom of being able to sit down at a piano and look at sheet music and play any song he wanted to play.

Jinjin said, “Don’t worry, I won’t forget anything unless you tell me to.”

Dongmin blinked at him again, unnerved.

The bus reached the stop nearest to Myungjun’s apartment, so Dongmin thanked the driver and led Jinjin off the bus.

Jinjin stumbled on the step, the toe of Dongmin’s oversized sneaker catching. His eyes went wide, and the expression of surprise on his face was utterly human. His arms windmilled.

Several people cried out in alarm.

Dongmin spun and caught Jinjin against his chest.

They both staggered onto the sidewalk, Dongmin with his arms tight around Jinjin. This close, Jinjin seemed quite compact and vulnerable, but also warm and human and  _ alive. _ He looked up at Dongmin with his endlessly dark, bright eyes.

“Sorry, Dongmin. You warned me about the shoes. I wasn’t as careful as I should have been.”

“It’s fine. I’ll see if Myungjun-hyung has a better pair you can borrow. You’re about his size,” Dongmin said. “He lives nearby.”

Jinjin nodded, eyes wide. Then he said, “You’ll have to let me go.”

“Oh!” Dongmin released Jinjin and stepped back, blushing.

Jinjin straightened his clothes and smoothed down his hair. “Which way?”

“This way.” Dongmin headed up the hill from the bus stop about a hundred meters to a gate, behind which was a garden and a small apartment complex. Dongmin hit the buzzer.

“Hello?” Bin asked.

“It’s me, Dongmin.”

“You came!” Myungjun cried. “Hurry up. I want to see him.”

The gate swung open with a loud buzzing sound, and Dongmin gestured for Jinjin to go first, then followed him inside. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and barely had time to knock before Myungjun yanked open the door and tugged Jinjin inside, almost shutting the door in Dongmin’s face.

Bin caught the door before it closed on Dongmin and gestured for him to enter.

“Thanks,” Dongmin said.

Bin nodded and ducked his head politely, wearing an apologetic smile.

Dongmin toed off his shoes, then said, “Hey, do you have an old pair of shoes you’re willing to part with? All my shoes are too big for Jinjin-hyung. Really all my clothes are too big for him too.”

“Right. Shoes.” Myungjun was flitting around Jinjin, who was standing still and allowing the scrutiny with inhuman stillness and patience. “Ah! You’re so cute. Binnie, untie his shoes.”

Bin sighed but obeyed. Jinjin lifted his feet out of the shoes obediently, and Bin placed them beside the door next to Dongmin’s shoes.

“Oh, your hair is so soft. I like the platinum-blond look.” Myungjun petted Jinjin’s hair briefly, still circling him and inspecting him. Then he glanced at Dongmin. “Do you need any computer supplies?”

Dongmin considered. “He came with a monitor and a tablet, but I do need a keyboard and a mouse, now that you mention it.”

“I have some spares you can take,” Myungjun said.

“Thanks, hyung.”

Seeing Bin so soon after seeing Dalkong was a bit uncanny, now that Dongmin had the chance to appreciate it. Where Dalkong had had ordinary black hair and had been dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks and looked like a nice, neat computer store employee, Bin had pale pink hair and earrings like an idol, and he was wearing a tank top and cardigan and a pair of trendy skinny jeans. Myungjun was always changing Bin’s hair color, and Bin did often look like an idol with how Myungjun dressed him. Myungjun must have spent a fortune on Bin’s wardrobe.

“I have plenty of old clothes you can take to give to your cute little Jinjin,” Myungjun said. “But you can’t keep calling him Jinjin forever. That’s just boring. Don’t think I didn’t notice you calling him Jinjin-hyung.”

“He’s in display mode, and I picked friendly mode because cute mode and flirty mode just seemed too much, and he asked if he was my hyung or my dongsaeng, and I picked hyung randomly, okay?” Dongmin said, flustered by the way Myungjun was eyeing him and waggling his eyebrows. “It’s not like I called him  _ oppa.” _

“You can give him a different name once he’s all set up. Come on into my room and let’s get connected to the wifi and go from there,” Myungjun said. “While you’re getting him set up, I can sort through some clothes for you to give to him. I will teach you all the tricks to owning a persocom without going broke. Like buying all their clothes at a thrift store. Binnie is stylish but still economical.”

“Really?” Dongmin asked.

Jinjin followed Dongmin, Bin, and Myungjun into Myungjun’s bedroom, which was scrupulously neat compared to Dongmin’s. Dongmin was neat compared to a lot of young men his age, but Myungjun took his personal neatness to a whole new level.

Dongmin sat down on the floor, and Jinjin sat opposite him.

“Enter setup mode,” Dongmin said to Jinjin, who nodded and said, 

“Connect to wifi. Which network should I connect to: 777Paradise or MJDuckyHub?”

His voice had turned flat and lifeless again. He’d exited display mode and friendly mode with it.

Dongmin twisted around to look at Myungjun. “Which one? I don’t want to try to access your neighbor’s wifi by mistake.”

“777Paradise is just my regular network, so it should have the speed you need,” Myungjun said. “MJDuckyHub is for gaming and streaming.”

“You have two?” Dongmin asked.

Myungjun flung open his closet doors and put his hands on his hips. “It’s pretty common to have a fast one and a slow one, even if you’re not a gamer.”

Dongmin blinked. Would he have to do that at his apartment? Could he afford to do that?

“777Paradise,” Dongmin said.

Jinjin nodded. “Password?”

Myungjun turned and said, “Binnie, give him the password.”

It was disturbing to see Bin sit in front of Jinjin and reach out, place his hands on Jinjin’s, and hear Myungjun’s voice come out of his mouth, and for a brief moment, a hologram of Myungjun’s face to appear over Bin’s.

“Myungjunnie has arrived!”

Most men probably couldn’t hit that note if they were paid to, but then Myungjun’s lovely tenor voice had often been a source of compliments for him growing up. On top of being a skilled artist and computer programmer, he was a naturally talented singer.

Jinjin said, “Connection established. Please enter your username.”

Dongmin looked at Myungjun. “Does my username have to be something fancy, with numbers and letters and special characters and stuff?”

“No, with modern biometrics it can be just your name in just your voice,” Myungjun said. 

Dongmin nodded. He felt a bit odd, sitting opposite Jinjin and looking right at him, like he was being interrogated or interviewed, or like the time he was signing up for classes at university for the very first time and the guidance counselor had stared fixedly at him the whole time, like he was a specimen under a microscope. “Lee Dongmin.”

Jinjin nodded and then parroted back  _ Lee Dongmin _ in Dongmin’s own voice. Hearing it come out of Jinjin’s mouth when his own mouth wasn’t moving was a little disturbing.

“Please set your password,” Jinjin said.

“Oh. Do I need a keyboard?” Dongmin asked.

“You can just speak your password,” Myungjun said. “I recommend you use multiple biometrics for extra security, although you should set a pin and voice-only backup options so you can call into your persocom and activate it remotely.”

Even though Dongmin had seen that on dramas, he’d always thought that was made-up, if only because he’d never seen his classmates do it, but then his classmates always had their persocoms right beside them and unlocked and running even before class started. “Will that work for me? I just have a flip phone.”

Myungjun winced. “Right. I bet I have an old smartphone you could use.”

“But I don’t have a fancy data plan,” Dongmin said. “I probably can’t afford one anyway.”

“It would work with your flip phone,” Myungjun said, “but with a smartphone you could call in with a video call and use facial recognition as well to login. Didn’t you see how Binnie held hands with your Jinjin to log in to the internet? My password is voice and face and fingerprint recognition.”

“But if Bin has all of that stored in his system and someone hacks Bin —” Dongmin began.

“Yah! No one will ever hack my beautiful darling Binnie.” Myungjun humphed and turned back to his perusal of his closet.

Dongmin turned back to Jinjin. “Sorry, hyung. Um. Does my password have to be anything special?”

“Something you can say aloud in public that can’t be embarrassing,” Myungjun said.

“Right.” Not that Dongmin had ever heard his classmates say their passwords, because someone unscrupulous could record it and save it later. That was why there were other biometric authentication factors in a password.

“Binnie, get Dongmin one of the old Corsair keyboards,” Myungjun said. “So he can pick a PIN while he’s getting set up. I don’t have any old bluetooth keyboards, so you’ll have to use a wired one. Same with the mouse.”

Bin nodded and crossed the room, opened a cupboard. He returned with a heavy black full-sized keyboard, knelt beside Jinjin, opened one of his ear-ports, and plugged it in. He set the keyboard beside Dongmin.

“Please set your password,” Jinjin said again.

Dongmin thought quickly. Then he reached out, placed his hands in Jinjin’s, and faced him head-on, looking right into his eyes. Jinjin’s hands felt warm and soft. Real.  _ Human. _ But then Dongmin thought he saw a laser-green gleam in Jinjin’s eyes, and he remembered. Jinjin was a persocom. 

Dongmin said,  _ “I shattered into pieces as if I was sunlight.” _

Myungjun snorted. “Poetry? Really?”

“Password set,” Jinjin said. “Please set your PIN.”

Dongmin reached out and typed a six-number PIN.

“Please confirm your PIN.”

Dongmin typed it in again. A mix of his mother, father, and brother’s birthdays seemed safe and easy to remember.

Jinjin said, “Please enter your contact information.”

Dongmin told Jinjin his email address, phone number, and mailing address. He agreed to register his new unit with Fantagio Computers.

“I don’t know why, though, since you don’t qualify for a warranty,” Dongmin said.

Myungjun frowned. He handed Bin an armful of clothes, which Bin ferried over to the bed and began folding neatly. “Why not?”

“Yoon Sanha, the boy who helped me enter the sweepstakes to win Jinjin, said he had some kind of defect, which was why they couldn’t sell him full price and why they were giving him away in the sweepstakes at all,” Dongmin said. 

“That’s odd.” Myungjun stepped away from the closet and knelt beside Jinjin, peering at him. “He looks flawless. It must be something internal. Have you inspected him?”

“Externally he’s fine,” Dongmin said.

Myungjun waggled his eyebrows. “So you  _ have _ inspected him.”

Dongmin rolled his eyes. “Don’t be weird.”

Jinjin said, “Would you like to give your unit a new name?”

“Yes,” Dongmin said. 

“Please select a new name.”

“All of a sudden? I need a moment to think. Maybe more than a moment.” Dongmin was already used to calling him Jinjin, but Myungjun was right; calling him Jinjin was boring and really no better than Yoonbyul calling her unit Yeonggu. “How about Jinwoo?”

“Why Jinwoo?” Myungjun asked.

“Well, it’s kind of like Jinjin, and remember how I used to have that pipe dream of being an actor and my stage name was going to be Eunwoo? Well, combine it and you get Jinwoo,” Dongmin said.

Myungjun tilted his head and considered the persocom, who continued to look straight ahead at Dongmin. “I like it. And you could still call him Jinjin if you wanted. Or Jinie. Your cute little Jinie.” He ruffled Jinwoo’s hair again.

“Jinwoo,” Dongmin said.

“Would you like to further customize settings?” Jinwoo asked.

“What are my options?”

“You may select your default music player, browser, and movie player,” Jinwoo said. “You may also customize interactive modes, or select from the default options of cute, flirty, and friendly.”

Myungjun’s face lit up.

“Friendly,” Dongmin said quickly. “Let’s go back to friendly. I was getting used to friendly. And you can be my hyung again.”

Jinwoo nodded, and then he smiled. “All right. Do you want to be close friendly or not? Shall I drop formalities?”

“Ah, let’s not drop formalities yet,” Dongmin said. “Maybe later, when we know each other better. I guess the thing I should do now is sign up for internet service at my apartment so I can get it set up, but I don’t really have a default music or movie player since I don’t really have much time to listen to music or watch movies like I did when I was at home. Once internet service is set up, we should go to the library so I can study, and Myungjun can study in peace too.”

“Not yet,” Myungjun cried. “First pretty little Jinwoo has to try on some new clothes!”

“You’re not one to be calling anyone little,” Dongmin said. “Or pretty.”

_ “You’re _ not one to be calling anyone pretty,” Myungjun shot back. He clapped his hands. “Binnie, we need a soundtrack. It’s time for a fashion show.”

“Yes, hyung.” Bin tilted his head, and music started to play from the small but powerful speakers in all four corners of the room.

Jinwoo looked at Dongmin. “Is setup complete?”

“For now,” Dongmin said. “I guess.”

Myungjun flapped at hand at Dongmin and disconnected the keyboard from Jinwoo’s earport. “I’ll show you how to remote login to Jinwoo from your phone later, once internet at your place is set up. Use Binnie to sign up for internet service at your apartment. C’mon, Jinwoo. Let’s get you all dressed up. You are about my size. I’ve been meaning to donate a lot of these clothes anyway, so I’m glad they’re going to a good home.”

Jinwoo stood up. “If Dongmin-ah is sure.”

“It’s fine,” Dongmin said. “You do need clothes of your own, because all mine are too big.”

“That’s what he said,” Myungjun said sagely, and ignored Dongmin’s embarrassed splutter. He towed Jinwoo over to the bed and pointed to the two piles of clothes. “Start with this pair of jeans. I bet you’ll look really cute in these jeans.”

Dongmin scratched the side of his neck, a little overwhelmed. Then he looked at Bin, who wore an expression that Dongmin couldn’t read. Of all the persocoms Dongmin had met, Bin seemed the most human.

“Do you mind?” Dongmin asked Bin.

“Mind what?” Bin asked.

“That Myungjun is excited about my new persocom,” Dongmin said.

Bin said, “Myungjun always gets excited about new shiny things, but I’m always his favorite.” He sat on the floor opposite Dongmin and looked right at him in that unblinking, uncanny persocom way, and then his gaze went distant while he searched the internet. “The best internet service providers in your neighborhood are these three.” He reached up, opened his earport, and connected one of Myungjun’s many monitors so Dongmin could see their names, average customer ratings, connection speeds, and prices.

Dongmin winced. That would put quite the dent in his budget. “Let me see what I have in my bank account,” he said.

Bin nodded, and he connected the keyboard to the same earport.

Dongmin logged into his bank account. The numbers he saw made his chest tighten, but he did some math and figured he’d be able to sign up right away if he skipped lunch for a few days, so he picked a service, scheduled an installation visit, and paid the initial fee.

He watched his bank balance shrink and felt his stomach gurgle in anticipatory hunger. He’d have to skip lunch several days a week every week to make this work, but it’d be worth not being cold all winter, and if he was careful he could make leftovers from the restaurant stretch further. He’d be all right.

“Are you hungry? Did you eat breakfast?” Myungjun asked.

“I ate the last of this week’s kimbap this morning,” Dongmin said. “I was going to survive on restaurant leftovers till I did my shopping and meal prep tomorrow.”

“Well, now you have Jinwoo. He can cook while you study,” Myungjun said.

Dongmin blinked. He hadn’t even considered that. “Is that how your apartment stays so clean? Because Bin cleans it?” Only he knew Myungjun was a very neat person.

“Yah,” Myungjun said lightly. “What do you think? How does he look? Jinwoo, do a little catwalk and a twirl. Binnie, music cue.”

The music turned up louder.

Jinwoo was wearing skinny jeans, a button-down shirt, a tie, and a cardigan, and he looked classy. Handsome. He strode the length of Myungjun’s room just like a model, paused, posed, turned.

Dongmin swallowed hard. “Good. He looks really good.”

“I know. I have a great sense of style.” Myungjun preened. “All of these clothes are Jinwoo’s now. I just wanted to make sure they’d actually fit. He’s broader across the chest and shoulders than I am, because of course such a sweet-faced persocom is all buff underneath his clothes. If you decide down the road you want any customizations for streaming dramas or music or playing video games or, you know, aesthetics, if you want to get him tattoos or earrings or something, you let me know, okay? If I can’t install something myself, I know someone who can, either for free or for a reasonable price.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Dongmin said. “And now I really better get to the library to study.”

Myungjun nodded. “Of course.”

“Perhaps we should drop the clothes back at your apartment first,” Jinwoo said.

“Yes,” Dongmin said, darting another glance at Jinwoo, who still looked incredibly handsome. How could someone so adorable suddenly look so handsome?

“Don’t forget some shoes,” Bin said.

Dongmin nodded. “He almost tripped in my shoes on the way here. It could have been really bad. He could have hurt himself.”

Bin frowned and looked at Jinwoo, but Jinwoo’s expression remained impassive.

Myungjun poked through his closet some here. “Here. A pair of sneakers, a pair of dress shoes for fancy occasions, and a pair of slippers. Binnie, go get some bags for them to carry the clothes.”

Bin fetched some canvas shopping bags, and Jinwoo helped Bin load the clothes into the shopping bags, as well as the spare pairs of shoes, the keyboard, and the mouse.

“And here, take these old speakers. These are bluetooth at least.”

“I’d say you’re happy to unload a bunch of your old junk on me, but I am very grateful,” Dongmin said.

Myungjun preened. “Even though I am but a humble architecture major, my prowess as a pro-am gamer and as a persocom customizer is not without its perks or substantial financial remuneration, so I’m glad to help out my prettiest cousin when I can.” He reached out and pinched Dongmin’s cheek, and his smile dimmed. “You’ve lost weight. Are you eating enough?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Dongmin asked.

“I’ve been working out. Binnie’s my fitness coach,” Myungjun said. “I know things are tight for you and that you’re working hard, and that the initial outlay of owning a persocom is pretty steep, but a Jinjin Pro is nothing to sneeze at, and you hit the jackpot with that pretty little boy out there, so you take good care of him, all right?”

Dongmin nodded. “I will.”

“Once your internet is set up, call me and I’ll walk you through activating him remotely so you don’t have to keep him with you at all times, which can be annoying sometimes, even when a persocom is as beautiful as my Binnie,” Myungjun said. “Plus in winter their batteries run down faster, so you might want to send him home to recharge sometimes if you don’t need him for a particular class, like a lab or something.”

Dongmin nodded again. “Okay. Thanks, hyung.”

“I’m  _ right here,” _ Bin said sourly, but he was holding the bags obediently.

He followed Dongmin and Jinwoo to the door.

Jinwoo put on Myungjun’s old sneakers and put Dongmin’s spare sneakers into the one of the bags. Dongmin put on his shoes.

“Thanks again, hyung,” Dongmin said. “Sometime we should get a meal together. If you come to Madam Jeon’s I could get you an employee discount. Her food really is amazing. Michelin Star amazing.”

“I’d rather eat with you on a night you don’t have to work,” Myungjun said. “And on a night  _ I _ don’t have to work.”

“We’ll figure it out sometime.” Dongmin grinned and said, “We’ll have Bin and Jinwoo connect, right?”

“Yes,” Myungjun said. “You can’t avoid me now.”

Bin handed Jinwoo all the bags.

“Here, let me take some,” Dongmin said, but Myungjun clicked his tongue.

“He may be smaller than you, but he’s much stronger than you.”

“Oh. Right. But his hands are still smaller than mine, and so many bags must be awkward even if they’re not heavy. Are you all right, Jinwoo?” Dongmin asked. He shrugged on his satchel and held out his hands, ready to take as many bags as necessary.

“I’m fine. I’ve got them,” Jinwoo said with a bob of his head.

“Are you sure?”

Jinwoo nodded again.

“Go! You have to study,” Myungjun said.

Dongmin glanced at his watch. “You’re right. Thanks again for everything, hyung. See you later!”

“It was nice to meet you both,” Jinwoo said with a bow, and he followed Dongmin out the gate and down the hill.

“Are you  _ sure _ you’re okay carrying those by yourself?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo looked amused. “I’m sure.”

Because even though Jinwoo  _ looked _ human, he was  _ programmed _ to be in  _ friendly mode, _ and Dongmin had seen how even though Bin had been amused and sarcastic and sour in turns, he’d still been subservient and helpful underneath it all.

“I won’t expire if I carry a few bags of clothes. I’m a man. I’m strong and capable,” Dongmin said. He and Jinwoo reached the bus stop.

The shelter was already quite crowded, and an old lady, a pregnant woman, and two children were occupying the bench.

The little girl looked up at Jinwoo and beamed and waved.

Jinwoo grinned and waved back.

“Look, Mama, he’s a brand new persocom, the kind who can make pepero,” the little girl said. “We saw him at the store.”

The pregnant woman smiled tiredly. “Yes, Suyeon.”

Suyeon peered at Dongmin. “Oppa must be very rich.”

“No,” Dongmin said. “I’m not. He — he was a gift.”

“Oppas friends are very rich,” Suyeon said.

Dongmin wilted. “Something like that.”

Jinwoo laughed. He held one of the bags out to Dongmin, the one with the computer supplies and shoes. “Here, take this one. It’s the heaviest one.” 

“Thank you,” Dongmin said.

Suyeon said, “Do you two play video games all the time?”

“I only got him this morning, so no,” Dongmin said. “And we’re going to study together, mostly. I need to do well in school so I can get good grades and get a good job and help my younger brother get through school and then take care of my parents.”

Suyeon eyed him suspiciously. “Did Mama tell you to say that?”

The old lady laughed.

Dongmin spluttered. “What? No. I just got here. I was visiting my cousin and now I’m waiting for the bus. I’ve never met your mother before.”

The pregnant woman sighed. “Suyeon, leave the poor student alone.”

“Fine,” Suyeon said. “But you’re a very boring person. If  _ I _ had a Jinjin Pro we’d make pepero together all the time and play games and go on walks and watch cartoons on YouTube and dance to music.”

Dongmin sighed. “Yes, I admit, I am a very boring person.”

The old lady laughed some more.

The pregnant woman inclined her head at Dongmin. “I apologize. My children are very bold and very rude. Suyeon, apologize.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dongmin said. “Most university students are very boring. One day you’ll be boring too, Suyeon. Be fun while you still can.”

The bus arrived then, saving Dongmin from further humiliation. He helped the old lady and the pregnant woman onto the bus, and then he paid for himself and Jinwoo, and they rode back to his apartment.

“We should just drop the bags of clothes inside the door and head straight to the library,” Dongmin said.

“You should bring the keyboard with you,” Jinwoo said, “and also the tablet, unless you want to hook me up to one of the monitors in the library? There are cables to connect me to the tablet in the boxes that the monitor and tablet came in.”

Dongmin considered. “Right. I’ll unpack the monitor and tablet and cables. If you put the bags of clothes in my room, we can sort those out later. I’ll be fast.”

Jinwoo nodded. They toed off their shoes by the door and scrambled to complete their tasks.

The monitor Jinwoo had come with was massive. Dongmin had no stand for it, so he supposed he’d put it on the table to watch it. He put it up on the table carefully and sorted through the cables and wires that had come with it. The tablet in the smaller box came in a neat little leather folio that looked like a regular notebook folio when it was closed. Dongmin grabbed its charge cord and the cable that would connect it to Jinwoo and jammed those both into his leather satchel, then met Jinwoo at the door.

They dashed back to the bus stop, and Dongmin showed Jinwoo which bus would take them to the university.

When the bus arrived, Dongmin fished his coin wallet out of the front pocket of his satchel and counted out coins for a student ticket and a persocom ticket and tried not to think of his rapidly-dwindling finances, and together they rode to the library.

“What is your assignment about?” Jinwoo asked.

“Legal liability of harm to humans by persocoms if that harm was ordered by another human,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo cocked his head. “Persocoms aren’t allowed to harm humans.”

“No,” Dongmin said, “but say I’m done with lectures for the day, and it’s cold, and I tell you go to back to my apartment —” it wasn’t an uncommon sight, persocoms out and about on their own doing errands for their owners — “and someone tries to steal and you and you shake them off, and because you’re much stronger than a regular human they get hurt. Who’s legally responsible for the harm to that human? You? But you’re a persocom and not a person and can’t be held liable under the law, so they can’t sue you, and police can’t arrest you. Me, because I told you to go back to my apartment and you shook them off because you were following my instructions? But I’m a law student, not a computer programmer, and I have no way of predicting all the possible things you might do to follow my instructions, and also I’m not an engineer and have no way of really understanding how much stronger you are than a regular human and how much damage you could do with a relatively minor action. Or are they responsible for what happened, since they were attempting to do something illegal, and they caused the situation in the first place by trying to grab you?”

Jinwoo stared at Dongmin. “I don’t understand.”

Dongmin patted his shoulder a little awkwardly. “It’s okay. I don’t think you’re meant to. It’s one of those issues only humans are supposed to think about, I suppose. Morals. Ethics. Cause and effect. Liability.”

“I understand cause and effect,” Jinwoo said. “If I push you, I cause you to fall over.”

“Well, yes,” Dongmin said.

“If you fall over, you may hurt yourself, and you may cry, and I will have caused you to cry,” Jinwoo continued.

Dongmin sat up straighter. “I don’t cry easily.”

Jinwoo nodded. “I don’t cry at all.”

With Jinwoo in friendly mode, it was so easy to forget that he wasn’t human, but here he was, puzzled by questions of morality and ethics.

Granted, there were some humans who didn’t cry, who wouldn’t or couldn’t either because they were physiologically unable, or because they were emotionally unable to.

Did that make them less human? Inhuman?

If Jinwoo did cry, would that make him more human-like?

Would that make him  _ actually _ human? A person instead of just of a persocom?

Dongmin shook his head to clear it. Obviously his research paper was doing funny things to his head.

The bus reached campus, and they hopped off and headed to the library.

Jinwoo paused at the doors and tipped his head back to look at the massive glass-walled building that resembled a modern palace more than a library.

“It’s large,” he said, “and I am small.”

“I felt the same way when I first came,” Dongmin said. “I’d seen it in pictures on the website. I was excited for a big library, you know? So many books. Lots of space to stretch out and study comfortably. But it is very big.”

Jinwoo stared, unblinking. “I know the dimensions of this building. I accessed them when I learned you were a student here. But knowing the dimensions and  _ understanding _ them are two different things.”

Dongmin looked at him, startled by the vulnerability in his voice. That was just an affectation. A programmed response. 

“Those are two different things,” he said finally. “Come on. I have to work on my paper.”

The library was split into different sections to accommodate students who were reading, students who were just browsing and surfing the internet, and students who were studying. Usually Dongmin worked in the computer lab, which took up half of the second floor and was a series of cubicles each with a double-wide desk, a monitor, and keyboard and mouse, and an old-fashioned persocom for student use.

This time Dongmin could bypass the computer lab and head for the private study rooms, which were much cheerier and more comfortable, like miniature student union hangouts, small rooms with big windows, desks, comfortable chairs, and whiteboards and blackboards for brainstorming.

As they passed the rows upon rows of old-fashioned persocoms, Dongmin wondered if Jinwoo was uncomfortable, looking at his predecessors. What would Dongmin do, if he came face-to-face with Neanderthals or Cro-magnons? 

But Jinwoo didn’t even look at them, just followed Dongmin up the escalator and into one of the study rooms.

“Here, pull up a chair, and I’ll get set up,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo nodded and sat obediently in one of the chairs near the desk. Dongmin sorted his study supplies onto the desk. Then he set the tablet folio, keyboard, and mouse on the desk.

“Ah...do I just use the tablet as a monitor?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo held out his hand. “If you tell me your password to connect to the university wifi, I’ll get you set up.”

“It’s that simple?”

Jinwoo nodded.

Dongmin told him the password, then watched, feeling stupid and a little helpless, as Jinwoo calmly opened his own earport, pressed a button, and swiped at the tablet screen. He held it up so Dongmin could see.

“Don’t you need the cable?” Dongmin asked.

“I can connect to the tablet via bluetooth,” Jinwoo said calmly.

“Oh. Right. Let me plug the tablet in to charge at least.” Dongmin found the charge cable and then had to crawl around under the desk a bit before he resumed his seat.

“I’m configuring it so it’s basically a mirror of me, just on a smaller scale. There’s a stylus here on the side, so you can take notes by hand if you want, and it’ll transcribe them automatically and make them searchable, but also you can use it as a sort of miniature monitor,” Jinwoo said. “Also, if you want to log into your default browser, I can save all your email login settings.”

“Right. Let me just connect the keyboard and mouse,” Dongmin said, but Jinwoo reached out and connected them himself.

Dongmin stared. “Does it hurt? When you do that?”

“No,” Jinwoo said. “Not at all.”

“What does it feel like? If you can feel it. If it’s not too invasive to ask,” Dongmin said, eyes going wide when he realized how rude he was being.

Jinwoo tilted his head, humming thoughtfully. His deep voice was pleasant. “It just feels warm. A buzzing sensation. Now, you’re ready to work.”

Dongmin reached into his satchel. “My research paper is on this flash drive. I have to connect it too.” He held it out.

Jinwoo accepted it with a brush of his warm fingers, and he opened his other ear port and connected it, and it was so uncanny, to hear him speaking just like a real person but see that he was very much not.

“Okay. Well. I’ll just get to work now,” Dongmin said. “You have a word processor installed, right?”

Jinwoo said, “I am already loaded with all the standard software — word processor, spreadsheet maker, presentation maker, calculator, notepad, basic paint application, basic photo editor.”

“Oh. Good. Great.” Dongmin cleared his throat. He considered the tablet. “I’ll just...prop this up against my satchel, maybe.”

Jinwoo scooped it up. “I’ll hold it for you.” He held it up under his chin at just the right height so Dongmin wouldn’t have to hunch.

“Are you sure? Won’t our arms get tired?” Dongmin asked.

“I don’t get tired,” Jinwoo said, and of course he didn’t; he wasn’t human.

He tilted his head and smiled, and he did look awfully sweet and accommodating, like a helpful boyfriend, except for the part where he had cables coming out of his earports.

“That’s fine. Thanks.” Dongmin found the folder his paper was saved in easily. The brand new glass surface of the tablet was much nicer than the old LCD monitors the library persocoms were hooked up to, and the document looked bright and crisp.

Dongmin set to typing.

Beneath his hands, the keyboard Myungjun had given him glowed rainbow.

Of course it did, because Myungjun liked things that were bright and lively and pretty.

Dongmin hit his stride, reading and editing, checking his sources, making sure his citations were correct, ensuring that his footnotes and bibliography were updating properly.

Once his paper was finished, he went to send it to the printer, which took a bit of finagling, because the library persocoms were all assigned to certain library printers, and Dongmin did his best to print to the same couple of printers so he didn’t lose his printouts in the rush of other students printing things.

“Can you connect to one of the library printers?” Dongmin asked Jinwoo. “Or is that like hacking?”

Jinwoo said, “Connecting to a library printer is not like hacking. Which printer would you like to print to?”

Dongmin told Jinwoo the number of his preferred printer, and Jinwoo smiled. 

“Your paper is printing now.”

“Thank you,” Dongmin said. He always printed drafts of his papers, because it was easier to spot errors on a hard copy. 

With that task underway, he pushed the keyboard away and flipped open his history textbook and started on next week’s reading. 

“Your paper has finished printing.”

Dongmin started violently at the deep voice, and then he remembered. Jinwoo. All the library persocoms had the same generic tenor voice with no real inflections.

But Jinwoo had set the tablet on his lap and was smiling at Dongmin, gesturing to the open door behind him.

“Oh. Thank you!”

“You should have a drink and stretch as well,” Jinwoo said. “To maintain optimum performance while you study.”

Now that Dongmin thought about it, he was thirsty. “There is a water fountain near here.”

Food and drink, of course, was forbidden in the library. While plenty of students sneaked snacks and drinks into the library all the time, Dongmin had never dared, because he couldn’t afford to be banned. 

So he hurried to the printer, grabbed his paper — and counted the pages to make sure he had all of it — and then stopped by the water fountain for a good long drink before he returned to his study room. 

For a moment, Dongmin thought he had the wrong room, because a cluster of girls was blocking the doorway, giggling and cooing. They tried to hush each other, but then one of them said,

“Your owner is a very lucky girl.”

Jinwoo said, “My owner is a man.”

Another chorus of  _ ooh _ rose up, and the girls immediately shushed each other. 

Dongmin cleared his throat. “Pardon me. I need to get through.”

The girls turned, and their eyes went wide. Dongmin resisted the urge to reach up and check if there was anything on his face or stuck in his teeth.

_ “Daebak,” _ another girl said. “It’s like something out of a BL webtoon.”

Dongmin felt himself blush as he ducked past the girls, careful not to touch any of them, his paper clutched to his chest as an ineffectual shield.

“Did you make sure to get a drink?” Jinwoo asked.

“I did, thank you,” Dongmin said. He resumed his seat and put his head down and deliberately did not look to see if the girls were still there or not, and he resumed reading. He’d do revisions on his paper once he’d worked on a couple of different subjects so he could look at the paper with fresh eyes.

It was easy to sink into the rhythm of reading and outlining, especially since the chairs in the study room were more comfortable, and the study room had a window that overlooked the quad. Dongmin much preferred studying with natural light, and that was one thing his basement apartment lacked, but the windows were old and had poor insulation, so if he wanted to stay warm he had to keep them covered; in the summer he’d had good light, though, and he missed that.

Everything was going well til Dongmin heard a whisper and a giggle.

He looked up and saw Jinwoo press a finger to his lips in the universal gesture for silence, his gaze serious. Dongmin frowned and twisted around to see what the matter was.

The crowd at the door had doubled in size.

Upon being noticed, the girls squeaked and scattered.

Dongmin watched them go, a little annoyed, but he understood, at least a little bit, because he’d stood at the Fantagio Computers shop window and stared at a cute Jinjin Pro too.

“You should take another break and get another drink,” Jinwoo said. “And also some food. It’s almost lunch time. Your brain requires one fifth of your body’s daily allotment of energy. You require energy input for optimal performance.”

Dongmin’s stomach clenched. He was hungry. Jinwoo was right; lunch time was right around the corner, but Dongmin couldn’t afford lunch. If he wanted to be able to study from the comfort of home with his own internet connection, lunch was a luxury, not a necessity. “I’ll eat at work.”

“Where do you work?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin told him the name of the restaurant.

“When do you work?”

“I work the dinner shift from four to ten Friday through Sunday every week.”

Jinwoo tilted his head. “You require sustenance before then.”

“‘Require’ is a strong word,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo continued to look puzzled.

Dongmin waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll be fine. But I will get up and stretch my legs and get a drink and then I’ll be back, all right?”

For the rest of the afternoon, Dongmin managed to dodge Jinwoo’s inquiries into whether he needed sustenance and whether he was performing at suboptimal levels. Jinwoo looked concerned as the afternoon drew on. The time spent at Myungjun’s, while necessary, had cut into Dongmin’s study time, and he’d have to study hard tomorrow to catch up. 

But when two o’clock rolled around, Dongmin closed his books and started putting them into his book bag.

“Are we finished?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin nodded and paused, stretched. “I have to go home and get ready for work.”

“What will I do while you work?”

Dongmin considered. “You can come with me.” Was it safe for him to leave Jinwoo at his apartment? There hadn’t been any break-ins in his neighborhood before, and it wasn’t like he didn’t leave his other belongings in his apartment all the time, but all of his other belongings combined didn’t add up to Jinwoo’s base cost. “While I’m waiting tables, you can help Minseok with his homework.”

“Who is Minseok?”

“He’s Madam Jeon’s son. He helps wait tables too, but where he’s younger than me I do most of the work.”

Jinwoo nodded. “I will help Minseok with his homework.” 

He disconnected the keyboard and flash drive and tablet and tucked those into Dongmin’s satchel, and together they headed back to the bus stop.

On the way back to the apartment, Dongmin told Jinwoo about the restaurant, about how delicious the food was, and how it was working with Granny. 

“What happens when you have no internet connection?” Dongmin asked.

“Most people with smartphones have data plans for their persocoms,” Jinwoo said. “Or maintain a bluetooth connection between their smartphone and their persocom so information on their phone can be shared with their persocom. Any information I learn from you is stored until I reconnect to wifi or internet and then it’s backed up.”

“Backed up where?” Dongmin asked.

“I have a cloud storage backup,” Jinwoo said. “It’s standard with every model.”

“But I didn’t sign up for one or pay for one.” Dongmin bit his lip, thinking of his already much-dented bank balance.

Jinwoo said again, “It’s standard with every model.”

Dongmin sighed and fretted all the way home. 

Back at the apartment, he set his satchel in the bedroom and, as an afterthought, set the tablet to charging. Then he changed into his work clothes.

“Should I also change clothes?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin yelped and clutched his shirt to his chest.

Jinwoo stood in the doorway.

“Oh. No. I mean. You look fine.”

“I made you anxious again, didn’t I? It’s fine. We’re friends, and both men.” Jinwoo smiled.

Dongmin thought of the girls in the library who’d looked at him and thought his owning Jinwoo was like something out of a BL comic, and he thought of how he’d imagined making pepero with a cute boy like Jinwoo would be a fun date, and he felt himself blushing.

Jinwoo frowned. “Your face is flushed. Are you impaired because you didn’t eat lunch?”

“No, I’m fine.” Dongmin pulled on his shirt and buttoned it hastily, angling himself away from Jinwoo so Jinwoo wouldn’t see his chest. “We’d better get to the restaurant as soon as we can.”

“Yes, Dongmin-ssi.”

The bus ride to the restaurant was silent and awkward but thankfully short.

Dongmin thanked the driver and hopped off the bus, led Jinwoo around to the side entrance and let himself in. He headed for the little break room.

“Hyung! What are you doing? You’re supposed to be hiding!” Minseok hissed as soon as Dongmin stepped into the room.

Dongmin turned to him, puzzled. “Am I? Is someone having a surprise party?”

Minseok blinked, and then he peered at Jinwoo. “Oh! I thought you were Minhyuk-hyung for a moment, but your hair is the wrong color.” His smile turned sweet in an instant. “Sorry.”

Dongmin had no idea who Minhyuk was. Perhaps Minseok’s family’s persocom? No one had mentioned one before. “Minseok, this is Jinwoo, my new persocom. I just got him today. I probably won’t usually bring him to work with me, but right now there’s no internet at my apartment, and I thought he might be bored, so he came along. He can probably help you with your homework if I’m too busy.”

Minseok nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Dongmin-hyung. How much does Mom pay you? I’ve seen this model in stores. He’s brand new!”

“Ah, I won a contest,” Dongmin said. “There’s no way I could afford him on my own. School is very expensive, even though your mother is very generous.”

Minseok inclined his head politely at Jinwoo. “Nice to meet you, Jinwoo-ssi.”

Jinwoo bowed politely in return. “Nice to meet you, Minseok-ah. Do you know the wifi password?”

Minseok whistled. “Changkyun, show Jinwoo-ssi how to get set up.”

The little doll woke up and stretched, yawned. Then he opened one eye and eyed Jinwoo, unimpressed, before he hopped off of Minseok’s backpack and sauntered over with much swagger for being all of twenty centimeters tall.

Changkyun climbed up onto Jinwoo’s shoe and fisted his little hands on the knee of Jinwoo’s jeans. They looked into each other’s eyes and then both of them went utterly still. 

“What are they doing?” Dongmin leaned over to Minseok and lowered his voice.

“Connecting via bluetooth,” Minseok said. The  _ duh _ was implied.

“Oh. Right.”

Dongmin wondered why Bin and Myungjun hadn’t done that at Myungjun’s apartment.

Changkyun’s eyes fell shut, and he toppled over, limp.

“Changkyunnie!” Minseok lunged and scooped him up. He glared at Jinwoo. “What did you do to him?”

Only Jinwoo didn’t respond either. His eyes were still open, but his gaze was blank.

He had some kind of factory flaw that made him unsaleable. Was this the result of his flaw?

Minseok popped open Changkyun’s earport and pressed a button. Changkyun’s eyes opened, and Dongmin heard the soft hum of reboot.

Jinwoo blinked, and he said, “Thank you for the password.”

Dongmin reached out, put a hand on Jinwoo’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“All right?”

“You blanked out for a second, and Changkyun —”  _ Fainted _ was the wrong word. “Changkyun blue-screened.”

“Blue-screened?” Jinwoo tilted his head, puzzled.

“Changkyun malfunctioned.”

Changkyun squirmed out of Minseok’s grip and clawed his way up Jinwoo’s leg again, wrapped around his knee, and glared. “What  _ are _ you?”

“My name is Jinwoo, and I am Dongmin’s personal unit. I am a Jinjin Pro,” he said.

Changkyun let go of Jinwoo’s leg and retreated to Minseok’s backpack. Minseok crouched beside him, hunched protectively over him.

“Run a diagnostic,” he said quietly.

Dongmin remembered Jinwoo saying something similar about that. “Jinwoo, run a self-diagnostic as well, check for any internal hardware or software errors, okay?”

Jinwoo nodded. Dongmin cast about and found a small stool for him to sit on.

“Stay here.”

“Is everything all right? I heard shouting.” Madam Jeon appeared in the doorway.

“Dongmin-hyung’s persocom connected with Changkyunnie and made him faint,” Minseok said.

Madam Jeon spotted Jinwoo. “You have a persocom?”

“Ah, yes. I entered a raffle and got lucky,” Dongmin said. “I couldn’t afford one on my own. I have no internet at my house yet, so I brought him with me so he wouldn’t be bored. If you don’t mind?”

Madam Jeon stared at Jinwoo for a long moment, and then she said, “That’s fine. Minseok brings Changkyun, after all.”

Dongmin couldn’t read her expression, and he fretted for a moment before he shrugged off his jacket and tucked it across Jinwoo’s knees. Then he pulled on his apron, tied it, and made sure he was ready to serve customers.

Saturday nights at the restaurant were very busy, and Dongmin flitted back and forth between the tables with his notepad and a ready smile, taking orders, serving and topping up drinks, and bringing plates out.

“I don’t know how you do it,” one woman said, “remembering everything. You’re like a persocom.”

“He’s as handsome as one,” her dining companion said.

Dongmin thought of the man who’d offered to pay Dongmin money to buy his likeness to reproduce it for persocoms and said, “Maybe one day persocoms will look like me, but I am all human.” He smiled brightly and swept back to the kitchen when Granny hollered that a platter was up.

Between customers, he poked his head into the break room and saw that Changkyun was curled up asleep on Minseok’s backpack like always. Jinwoo was leaning against the wall as well, eyes closed, also seemingly asleep. He was probably still running his self-diagnostic.

The shift ended without incident, and Dongmin and Minseok cleaned the dining room quickly. 

“Hey, are you ready to go?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo opened his eyes. “Yes, Dongmin-ah. I’m ready to go.” He smiled.

“Are you all right?” Dongmin asked, while they sat in the shelter at the bus stop.

“I am,” Jinwoo said.

“Did your diagnostic turn up anything?”

Jinwoo shook his head. “I am fine.”

“No errors or flaws or...anything?” Dongmin pressed.

Jinwoo shook his head again. 

It wasn’t like a computer could lie, but Changkyun  _ fainting _ couldn’t have been normal.

“What happened when you connected with Changkyun?”

“I am a brand new model, and he is an older model, and our software was not compatible, and he was temporarily overwhelmed, but he is unharmed, as am I.” Jinwoo smiled reassuringly.

Dongmin supposed that made sense. “Fair enough.”

The bus ride back to the apartment was quick. Jinwoo asked Dongmin how his shift had been, if he was very tired. Jinwoo had looked up information about the restaurant and many reviews of it, and it was popular and held in high regard. Surely the restaurant must have been very busy, and Dongmin must have been very tired.

Back at the apartment, Dongmin washed up and brushed his teeth and readied himself for bed. He’d brought his pajamas into the bathroom with him so he wouldn’t have to change in front of Jinwoo. 

If Jinwoo’s eyes (both eyes? One eye? Did a persocom need both eyes for depth perception like a human?) were cameras, and all of Jinwoo’s data was backed up to a cloud server somewhere, would there be hours and hours of footage of Dongmin for someone to see? How secure was that backup file?

When Dongmin emerged from the bathroom and headed into the bedroom, he almost ran into Jinwoo, who was trotting back and forth, ferrying clothes from the bags in the den to the bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting the clothes away,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin hadn’t instructed him to do it, but Jinwoo was programmed with a high-level learning AI, and he didn’t constantly need instruction from Dongmin to complete tasks. He could look around the apartment and figure out that there was only one bedroom and only one place to store clothes and decide that he should put his clothes in the place where all of the rest of the clothes were stored.

He probably didn’t realize how it might seem, that he and Dongmin were storing their clothes together.

“Thank you,” Dongmin said, helplessly, feeling his face heat. “That’s very helpful of you.”

Jinwoo paused. “Is this action incorrect?” He held up one of the folded shirts. “Do you prefer shirts to be folded differently? I examined your folded shirts, and these shirts appear to be folded the same way.” 

He’d folded his shirts much more precisely than Dongmin or even Dongmin’s mother had ever managed to do.

“No, that’s fine.”

Jinwoo stepped around Dongmin and padded into the bedroom. “My shirts are here, separate from your shirts.”

But their shirts were side-by-side. Together in the closet, they looked very domestic and cozy. And they wore about the same shirt size, and how easy would it be, for a tired Dongmin to accidentally grab one of Jinwoo’s shirts and wear it? But Jinwoo wouldn’t be angry or offended if Dongmin wore one of his shirts, and he wouldn’t think it was cute or sexy. And if Dongmin asked Jinwoo to wear one of  _ his _ shirts, Jinwoo would probably just comply, because that was part of  _ friendly mode. _

Dongmin scrubbed his hand over his face.  _ Why _ was he thinking of Jinwoo like this? Jinwoo was just a persocom, just like the bland-faced, bland-voiced ones in the library, only with a better face and voice.

Once Dongmin was finished drying his hair, he helped Jinwoo put the clothes away, resigned to the fact of them sharing a closet.

“Which side do you sleep on?” Jinwoo asked, standing beside the bed.

Dongmin blinked. “Pardon?”

“I wouldn’t want to sleep on your side,” Jinwoo said. “That wouldn’t be very friendly.”

Dongmin bit back a splutter. “What? No. You — you can sleep on the beanbags. While you recharge.”

“But don’t friends sleep together?” Jinwoo asked.

“We’re not close friends yet. We still haven’t dropped formalities,” Dongmin said quickly, heart racing. “Why don’t you go change into your pajamas and I’ll make up a nest for you.”

Jinwoo looked puzzled. “Why is your face red? Is it because you didn’t eat lunch? Or was your shower too hot? Do you need to take a cold shower?”   
  
“I’m fine,” Dongmin said. He reached into the closet and grabbed some cute satin pajamas — they had the name  _ Myungjun _ stitched on the pocket in English but beggars couldn’t be choosers — and shoved them at Jinwoo. “Go get changed.”

Jinwoo nodded and promptly stripped off his clothes.

Dongmin flinched, but rather than shout at Jinwoo to go change in the bathroom and have to answer a bunch of questions he wasn’t sure he knew the answer to, he reminded Jinwoo to put his dirty clothes in the appropriate baskets (lights, darks, whites) and then saw about pushing the bean bag chairs together and draping blankets over them.

He made sure the charge cord could reach the little nest he’d built, and then Jinwoo emerged from the bedroom.

“I’m ready,” he said.

Dongmin patted the bean bag chair nest. “Here. Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

Jinwoo considered the nest for a moment, then curled up under the blankets.

Dongmin held out the charge cord. “Do you want me to plug it in? Or is that weird? Would you rather do it yourself?”

Jinwoo closed his eyes and tilted his head. “You can do it, Dongmin-ssi. Hyung is tired.”

“Tired? Is your battery running low?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo nodded. “I wasn’t fully charged when I came out of my box.”

“Oh no. Is there — can you give me some kind of warning when your battery runs low?”

“I can,” Jinwoo said.

“Please do. When it gets to ten percent or something, please tell me.” Dongmin would have to remember to carry Jinwoo’s charge cord with him at all times, and also get a spare to have at home in case Jinwoo went home and Dongmin was still out. 

Maybe Jinwoo should have a backpack of his own so he could carry a spare charge cord and some other supplies.

Dongmin mentally added that to the list of things he ought to buy for Jinwoo and deducted it from his bank account — but he could buy that at a thrift store to save money, as Myungjun had suggested — and then opened Jinwoo’s earport carefully.

“Here, have some energy,” Dongmin said. Did it feel like eating, when Jinwoo charged up? Did he feel  _ hungry  _ or just  _ tired _ when his energy ran low? And did he feel full and happy as his energy increased?

Jinwoo hummed happily when the cord connected. Dongmin tucked a blanket around him.

“Stay warm,” he said, because being warm helped his battery stay charged more efficiently.

Dongmin turned the den light out, and then crept into his own room. He climbed into bed, plugged his phone in, and texted his parents and brother good night, and turned off the light.

He lay there in the darkness, thinking of how Jinwoo had just  _ assumed _ that they would share a bed. Dongmin had shared a bed with his younger brother before, and Cousin Myungjun too. Sharing a bed was no big deal, right?

Except Jinwoo was neither his brother nor his cousin.

Jinwoo was his  _ computer. _

But Jinwoo had been with him all day today, and been concerned about whether not he’d been eating and drinking, and Jinwoo was handsome, but —

Dongmin well knew that a persocom’s face was artificial. The customer at the restaurant had told him so. 

Was there a human out there who looked like Jinwoo? Or some version of him?

Dongmin closed his eyes and snuggled down into his pillow. Now that he had Jinwoo, some things in his life would be much easier, but other things would be harder, and he would have to work very hard to keep his life together. He knew that winning Jinwoo was a one-in-a million chance, and he couldn’t bank on winning anything by chance like that again.

* * *

Dongmin woke the next morning when the sky was just barely light. He rolled out of bed and grabbed some clean clothes, stumbled for the bathroom.

And nearly tripped over a boy sleeping in his den.

For one moment, Dongmin was very confused. Why was there a stranger sleeping in his apartment? Had someone broken in, someone who’d gotten drunk at a party? Had  _ Dongmin  _ gotten drunk at a party and brought someone home with him?

And then he noticed the boy’s ears.

Not a boy. A persocom. Dongmin’s persocom. Jinwoo.

Dongmin sank against the door frame, one hand pressed to his racing heart.

In sleep, Jinwoo was adorable.

Jinwoo opened his eyes and looked right at Dongmin. “Is it time to get up now? I am fully charged.”

Dongmin’s pulse spiked again, and he rubbed at his chest nervously. “Yes. Let me wash up.” Did a persocom need to wash at all? Not take a full-on shower, obviously. “Why don’t you get dressed, and then we’ll go grocery shopping.”

Jinwoo sat up and grinned. “All right. I’ll get dressed. What should I wear?”

“Something casual and comfortable is fine,” Dongmin said. He hurried into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, washed his face, shaved, pulled on clean clothes, combed his hair.

When he emerged, Jinwoo was wearing skinny jeans again, a t-shirt, a zip-up hoodie, and a leather jacket over it. Since when had Myungjun worn a leather jacket? Jinwoo had done something to his hair to make it look artfully spiky, so instead of cute and adorable, he looked like a rebel, kind of badass and punk. Jinwoo remembered Myungjun’s offer to get Jinwoo customization like tattoos, and at the time Dongmin had dismissed them offhand, but now he wondered what Jinwoo would look like with a tattoo or two.

“How do I look?” Jinwoo asked. He hooked his thumb into his hip pocket and ducked his chin.

He was supposed to be in friendly mode, not flirty mode. Where had he learned to dress like this? He had no internet connection. But then how long had it taken him to run his diagnostic at the restaurant last night? He could have surfed the internet for hours. 

Dongmin swallowed hard. “Good. You look good. Let’s go.”

Dongmin grabbed his wallet, keys, and phone, his canvas shopping bags, and his notebook with his shopping list in it. Jinwoo came to stand beside Dongmin at the door and put on his shoes.

Side-by-side, Dongmin was hyperaware of the fact that Jinwoo was markedly shorter than him, and also how soft his hair was, and how warm he was.

“Here, let your hyung help you,” Jinwoo said. He knelt and tied Dongmin’s shoe for him.

Dongmin was perfectly capable of tying his shoelaces himself. He’d been doing it longer than he could remember, but before he could protest, Jinwoo tied his other shoe and then straightened up, smiling.

Together they headed down the street to the little supermarket which was, thankfully, within walking distance. The morning sunlight was weak and filtered through thin clouds, and the air was chilly enough that Dongmin’s breath steamed.

“Are you warm enough? Should you be wearing a scarf or hat or gloves? Do you need a thicker jacket?” Jinwoo asked.

“I’m fine,” Dongmin said. “Are you warm enough? Will your battery be all right?”

“I’m wearing layers. I’m fine,” Jinwoo said.

At the grocery store, Dongmin found a shopping basket. 

He held out his notebook to Jinwoo. “Here. This is my shopping list. I don’t buy exactly the same thing every week, but I buy a lot of the same staples over and over again. Maybe in future you can come shop for me? So I can study.”

Jinwoo nodded. “I have accessed the guest wifi network. Do you have a frequent shopper card so you can earn points for discounts and be sent coupons?”

“No,” Dongmin admitted.

“Would you like me to sign you up for one?” Jinwoo asked. “I can filter out the spam email but optimize your shopping experience by saving coupons for items you regularly purchase, as well as building a shopping list for you on the supermarket’s website so I can order groceries for pickup to save time in future.”

Dongmin blinked. “Sure. Go ahead. That sounds good.”

“Which email account should I use?” Jinwoo asked as Dongmin started down the dairy aisle.

“Not my school email,” Dongmin said. “My personal one is fine.”

Jinwoo nodded. While Dongmin bought supplies to make his weekly supply of kimbap for breakfast, Jinwoo asked Dongmin about his shopping preferences. Whenever Dongmin went to put an item into the basket, Jinwoo intercepted it, inspected it, asked whether it was considered a  _ favorite _ item, and added it to the online list he was building. His earnestness and enthusiasm was endearing, but also Dongmin was a bit weirded out by the whole process. 

In order to afford the down-payment for the internet installation, Dongmin would have to skip lunch that week, so he bought only half his usual supply of meat, and he bought chicken instead of pork or beef, since it was cheaper, and he bought instant noodles. Fresh vegetables were cheaper than canned or frozen vegetables, and Dongmin had learned how to cook them as a necessity. The trick was to cook everything on Sunday, then separate it all into small portions and freeze it, and thaw each portion as he needed it. He had some leftovers from the restaurant he could use as breakfast and lunch today, and he’d get some more leftovers he could use as dinner tonight and tomorrow night. He’d have dinner covered on Friday and Saturday night again, which meant he’d only have to buy enough food to cover dinner for Tuesday through Thursday, which wasn’t so bad.

Jinwoo frowned as Dongmin loaded up his basket. “The total caloric value of this food is insufficient for a man your age and size.”

“Don’t forget that I have leftovers from the restaurant, and I’ll get more tonight,” Dongmin said. “Besides, sometimes I can get free food at school. They give it away at lunchtime lectures.”

Jinwoo nodded. “I understand.”

Dongmin wasn’t lying; there were free lunches on campus all the time if one knew where to look, but more often than not Dongmin had to study or had other lunchtime meetings he needed to get to. What was the morality on lying to a machine? Not that humans didn’t tell each other polite white lies all the time.

“When I get home, will you help me prep my meals for the week?”

Jinwoo smiled. “Of course. I’d be glad to help Dongmin-ah.”

“If we work fast, we can be done before the internet technician arrives.”

Dongmin was far from the only person at the supermarket accompanied by a persocom. Plenty of housewives had persocoms with them to help calculate their grocery totals or find good sales or keep an eye on the children. Some elderly people had persocoms along to help them read labels or find particular items.

Dongmin spotted one man, maybe in his late thirties or early forties, pushing a cart and laughing with his persocom, a model designed to look like a pretty young female as she hung off of his arm. But for her earports, she might have been his wife or girlfriend, and they looked happy together. Close. Affectionate. Dongmin glanced over at Jinwoo, who walked alongside the shopping cart, looking around and taking in details.

This was probably his first time in a supermarket. Did he have information about supermarkets before coming here today? Was it what he expected? Did it make him feel big or small?

Dongmin didn’t flinch too much when he saw his grocery total, simply bagged his groceries — with Jinwoo’s help — and paid and headed home. Jinwoo carried the majority of the grocery bags. Because Jinwoo was smaller, Dongmin felt bad that he was doing most of the work even though he was demonstrably stronger than Dongmin and didn’t look at all strained from the effort.

Back at the apartment, Dongmin showed Jinwoo where all the food was kept, and then it was time to teach him how to make kimbap.

“I’m not nearly as good at it as my mother is,” he said, “but my kimbap doesn’t fall apart, and that’s really all that matters when I’m headed off to school, so.”

Dongmin didn’t have a rice cooker, so he showed Jinwoo how to measure the rice and then rinse it, put it into a large pot on the stove and set it to cooking. Then he showed Jinwoo how to prepare the vinegar-salt-sugar mix to make the rice sticky. Then he showed Jinwoo how to make the kimchi filling.

Everything was going well until it was time to assemble everything. 

“I made an assembly station,” Dongmin said, “so it’s more efficient and less likely to make a mess. The gim goes here, the filling goes here, and the rice goes here. Could you go get the rice off the stove, please?”

“Of course,” Jinwoo said, and turned away.

Dongmin poked around in a drawer for the rice ladle.

“Ow!”

Dongmin spun around. “What happened?”

“I burned my hand on the rice pot,” Jinwoo said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that the pot was very hot.”

Dongmin didn’t think. He grabbed Jinwoo by the wrist and dragged him over to the sink, turned on cold water and shoved his hand under it. “Are you all right? Does it hurt badly? Do you need to go to the hospital? I — what am I saying? You’re a persocom. You don’t feel pain.”

He let go of Jinwoo’s wrist and stepped back.

Jinwoo looked at him, puzzled. “I do feel pain,” he said, and Dongmin remembered how Jinwoo had shouted  _ ow! _ just like any human. “I don’t know if I feel it the same way you do, but all persocoms feel pain. We feel it for the same reason humans do, so we know that we have done something to cause ourselves damage, and so we know to cease that action immediately and also to avoid it in the future.”

“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry.” Dongmin reached out and turned off the water, scooped up a towel and patted Jinwoo’s hand dry carefully. “Does it — does it feel better now? Are you damaged badly? Do you need to be repaired?” He leaned in and peered at Jinwoo’s hand, which did look a little red, just like a human’s did after a minor burn.

“My body can self-repair to an extent, the same as a human’s,” Jinwoo said. “I am a persocom; I am a person and a computer, not just a personal computer.”

Dongmin had never heard that before. Persocoms were just computers who looked  _ like _ people; they weren’t computers who were  _ also _ people.

Were they?

Because Jinwoo had sounded genuinely pained by the burn.

“How do you avoid burning yourself when you take the rice off the stove?” Jinwoo asked.

“The rice! It’s probably overcooked now.” Dongmin lunged and switched off the burner, then yanked open a drawer next to the stove and found the oven mitts, used them to shift the pot of rice over to his assembly station. “I use these to protect my hands. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s something I didn’t even think about. It’s something most humans don’t even think about, I guess.”

“I’ve learned something new,” Jinwoo said, “and I will not make the same mistake again.”

“I’m sorry you had to learn the hard way. I really am.” Dongmin bit his lip. “I’m responsible for you and I failed to teach you.”

But Jinwoo wouldn’t make the same mistake again. A human could have easily made that mistake — though out of absent-mindedness rather than sheer ignorance — and would easily make the mistake again. Once was enough for Jinwoo.

Was Jinwoo also a person? 

Or was he  _ better _ than a person?

Dongmin thought of the man at the grocery store who’d been laughing with the female persocom like she was his wife or girlfriend, thought of Myungjun and how fond he was of Bin, and maybe it was no surprise that people cared more about persocoms than other people. Why settle for someone so flawed, who made the same mistakes over and over again, when someone beautiful and intelligent and constantly evolving and learning from their mistakes, who only made a mistake once, was available instead?

Only Jinwoo was looking at Dongmin with perfect trust in his eyes.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Jinwoo said. “This hyung will take care of you too.”

Dongmin reached out and cradled Jinwoo’s hand in his. “How does it feel now?”

“Good,” Jinwoo said. “It feels good when you hold my hand like this.”

Dongmin snatched his hands back. “I mean the burn. Does it still hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt anymore. As I stated previously, my body is capable of self-repair.” Jinwoo offered a sunny grin. “Show me how to make triangle kimbap.”

Dongmin nodded and guided Jinwoo over to the assembly station. The clever thing about triangle kimbap was that the gim came in plastic wrappers that had instructions on the plastic for how to fold the kimbap during assembly and how to unwrap it for consumption later, so it looked just like convenience store kimbap.

“Are you sure your hand doesn’t hurt anymore?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo nodded, and he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Dongmin and worked. Between the two of them, they finished the task quickly. Dongmin watched Jinwoo make the last two to ensure he knew how to do it on his own, but of course Jinwoo made them perfectly neatly, without a single mistake.

Jinwoo presented the two triangle kimbap with a flourish. “What do you think? Are they all right?”

“They’re perfect,” Dongmin said.

“Good. Eat them and think of me.” Jinwoo smiled and preened a little.

Dongmin, who’d reached for them to box them up with the others to put into his little fridge, paused. “Are you sure you’re in friendly mode and not flirty mode?”

“I’m sure,” Jinwoo said. “You want to see what flirty mode is like?”

“No, that’s fine. Just —” Dongmin cleared his throat. He felt flushed. “Let’s clean up, and then we can study until the internet tech gets here.”

“I’ll clean up. You go study.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Jinwoo rolled up his sleeves.

“You won’t get damaged if you get wet?”

“Says the man who put my hand under running water a few minutes ago.”

Dongmin considered. “True.”

“My skin is about as waterproof as a human’s, for the most part,” Jinwoo said. “I don’t need to study. I can clean up. Let me help my dongsaeng, hm? Being helpful helps me become closer to you, and then we can drop formalities. Soon you’ll be my Dongminnie.”

Dongmin’s heart skipped a beat. “Thank you for cleaning up. I’ll be in the den studying. Call me if you don’t know where something goes.”

“I can figure it out myself,” Jinwoo said. “I am capable of learning, after all.”

And he filled one of the sinks with water and soap.

Dongmin plopped down on one of the beanbag chairs and opened up his torts textbook and set to reading. Then he reached for his notebook and pens so he could make a chapter outline.

Eventually, Dongmin’s heart stopped pounding, and he lost himself in his studies. The sound of Jinwoo moving around the kitchen was comforting, familiar, almost like being home again while his mother cleaned and did housework, and Dongmin felt warm, almost happy. He snuggled down deeper into the beanbag chair and pulled his jacket closer around him, nibbling on the end of his pen while he read.

“I’m finished,” Jinwoo said. “Is there anything you need help with?”

Dongmin lifted his head.

Jinwoo stood in the doorway, still wearing his apron, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked adorably domestic. 

“I’m just doing my reading,” Dongmin said. “I don’t really need help with anything. You can sit and relax if you like.”

“Would you like some music while you study?” Jinwoo asked. “I come pre-programmed with the Billboard Top 100, the Melon Top 100, and the Seoul National University Top 100 Classical and Top 100 Traditional songs.”

Dongmin stared at him. “Really?”

“Even without internet, I am capable of many things.” Jinwoo sat down on one of the beanbag chairs beside Dongmin, angled toward him.

He tilted his head, and soft piano music started to play.

“I don’t know this song,” Dongmin admitted. “I don’t listen to the radio much.”

“This is called Someday the Boy by Feel Kim, from the OST of the popular drama Itaewon Class,” Jinwoo said. “Would you prefer classical music?”

“That’s easier to concentrate to,” Dongmin admitted.

Jinwoo tilted his head again, and another song began to play.

Dongmin recognized this one. “Scheherazade. Rimsky-Korsakov.” He nodded and turned back to his book. Then he turned back to Jinwoo. “Where is the music even coming from?”

“I have internal speakers.” Jinwoo pressed a hand to his chest. “That way when I speak, you hear my voice the same way you hear any other person’s. Do you want to feel?” He offered his hand.

Dongmin stared. “Do you mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded,” Jinwoo said, which made sense, but he wasn’t really a person, he was a computer in  _ friendly mode. _ Was he able to mind this sort of thing?

But Dongmin couldn’t help it. He reached out, curled his fingers against Jinwoo’s palm, let Jinwoo tug his hand close, let Jinwoo place Dongmin’s palm against his chest. And then he felt the vibrations in Jinwoo’s chest, as if Jinwoo were humming, except Jinwoo wasn’t saying anything. But Dongmin could still hear the familiar strains of the music, the dancing flute and violin representing the two voices of Scheherazade and the Sultan as they conversed, as she told him the stories and he asked her questions and begged for more, as he fell in love with her and she convinced him to keep her alive for one more night, one more night, for one thousand and one nights.

For one moment, Dongmin wondered if he’d feel Jinwoo’s heart beating if he shifted his hand. Jinwoo was warm, his t-shirt soft cotton beneath Dongmin’s hand, and Dongmin could feel, ever so faintly, the contours of Jinwoo’s muscles. They  _ felt _ like real muscles, as if Dongmin were touching another man, and —

A sharp knock at the door made Dongmin snatch his hand back. 

He crossed the den in a couple of small steps and yanked open the door.

“Hello?”

It was probably going to be a priest or something, there to smite him down with the wrath of God or Buddha or someone else for having insane and possibly impure thoughts about a  _ persocom. _

But it was a man in grey coveralls with the internet service provider logo on one pocket and his name — Nam Bowon — stitched on the other.

“Hello. I’m here to install internet for Lee Dongmin?” He consulted a tablet.

“Ah, yes, that’s me. Please come in.”

The man bowed and toed off his boots, then strode into the apartment.

A persocom in a matching uniform — AstroNet Unit 223 — followed him into the apartment, a bright orange toolbox in hand. The unit looked like Yoonbyul’s Yeonggu, only newer and fresh-faced.

“It looks like this apartment had had internet service previously, so setup should be quite fast,” Nam Bowon said. “Jingoo, scan for existing ports.”

“Yes, hyung,” the persocom said obediently. He stood in the middle of the apartment and looked around, then pointed. “There is a cable outlet there, and a fiber-optic outlet there. Which would you prefer I use?”

“Dongmin-ssi only signed up for basic cable, so let’s go with cable,” Nam Bowon said, looking at his tablet some more. He glanced at Dongmin. “Unless you’d like to upgrade?”

There was no way Dongmin could afford any kind of upgrade. “I’ll see how I like the basic service and go from there.” He smiled.

The persocom, apparently nicknamed Jingoo, knelt and did most of the installation himself. What was the point of sending a human along if the persocom could do it? Other than the fact that persocoms weren’t allowed to operate motor vehicles. They could take public transport alone — Dongmin would have to either get Jinwoo some kind of travel pass or get him a coin wallet of his own (one more thing to go into Jinwoo’s new used backpack) — but not drive, and driving to multiple service calls was probably faster and more efficient than taking public transport. Plus customers probably still preferred the personal touch from a human service tech.

Nam Bowon nodded, indifferent to Dongmin’s decision and uninterested in trying to upsell him. He eyed Jinwoo. 

“He’s a brand new model, right? The Jinjin Pro?”

Dongmin nodded.

Nam Bowon whistled. “Fancy. We’re lucky to have these Luna Units. Of course we keep them in top condition, but I’ve heard the Jinjin Pro comes in a construction edition, and those would be a dream. What edition is he?”

“Ah...the Pepero-making edition?” Dongmin offered. He hadn’t actually realized that there was more than one edition of the Jinjin Pro. On the banner at the Fantagio Computers outlet, it had listed Pepero Making as a new feature of the Jinjin Pro, but it hadn’t occurred to Dongmin that there were other special features available. Of course, persocoms were used in all industries and at all levels of industry.

Nam Bowon arched an eyebrow, glanced around Dongmin’s sparsely-furnished apartment. “Ah. I see.”

“I won him in a raffle,” Dongmin explained quickly, in case Nam Bowon got the wrong idea. “I need a computer for school, so. I live quite far from campus, and the university library doesn’t accommodate my study hours, especially since the bus from my apartment to campus doesn’t run as frequently as I need it.”

“Yes, I understand,” Nam Bowon said.

Dongmin didn’t know why he had to justify himself to a stranger, but he thought of those girls in the library and how it must look, a poor college student with a top-of-the-line persocom, and he had to defend himself. 

After several minutes, Jingoo-or-223 closed his toolbox and said, “Internet service is now available.” 

A small black modem was tucked against the wall near an outlet Dongmin had never really paid attention to before.

“If you want wifi, you’ll need a wireless router,” Nam Bowon said. “You can rent one from AstroNet, or —”

“No, thank you,” Dongmin said. Myungjun probably had a spare. He had spares of everything. If not, Dongmin could survive on having Jinwoo hard-wired to the modem until he saved up for a wireless router. “Thank you for working so quickly and efficiently.

Nam Bowon held out the tablet. “If you’ll just sign here for payment.”

“I have cash,” Dongmin said.

Nam Bowon blinked at him.

Dongmin fetched his wallet from the bedroom and counted out a gut-wrenching stack of bills and also some coins and handed it over. Nam Bowon stared at it for a moment, then handed it over to Jingoo, who rifled through it all with inhuman speed, confirmed the total was correct.

“You want to check to make sure the connection works before we go?” Nam Bowon asked.

Dongmin nodded. “That’s a good idea. Do we need a password?” He remembered what had happened with Changkyun the night before and didn’t want Jinwoo to make Jingoo malfunction or faint or something. The last thing he needed was the expense of repairing the internet service company’s persocom.

But Jingoo said, “Not if he makes a direct connection to the modem.”

Jinwoo knelt beside the modem and opened his earport, used one of his cables to connect to the modem.

“How much does the modem cost?” Dongmin asked, fretting a little.

“It’s included with the cost of the installation,” Nam Bowon said, waving a dismissive hand.

“Well?” Jingoo asked Jinwoo.

Jinwoo nodded and smiled up at Dongmin. “I have a strong connection.”

“Excellent.” Dongmin bowed to Nam Bowon and Jingoo out of politeness. “Thank you for your hard work.”

“Enjoy your Sunday. You have a free email account with AstroNet,” Nam Bowon said. “You can use it to receive emails from the company about your account, and also to configure your wifi if you get a wifi router.”

Dongmin nodded. “All right. Thank you.”

He showed Nam Bowon and Jingoo to the door, watched them trot up the stairs to street level, then closed the door behind them. He crossed the room and sat down opposite Jinwoo.

“The connection is solid? Strong? Stable?”

Jinwoo nodded. “I’m backing up my data now. Would you like to set up your AstroNet email account?”

Dongmin nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.”

They walked through the process together. Dongmin was more used to conversing with Jinwoo, answering his questions and providing information, and it felt more like a natural conversation and less like an interrogation. He could meet Jinwoo’s gaze and smile, and it felt like Jinwoo was a helpful sales clerk instead of a machine doing tasks for him.

“What next?” Jinwoo asked. “Now that that’s all set up.”

“I should contact Myungjun and ask if he has a spare wifi router. He probably does. And he said he’d teach me how to activate you remotely,” Dongmin said. “And also...also I should do a video call with my parents. I haven’t seen their faces in a while. The last time I did a video call with them was at Myungjun’s house. We should set up the big OLED monitor so I can see them. You can see them too!”

“Would you prefer to see them on the monitor, or would you prefer it if I project their images so you can interact with them face-to-face?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin blinked. “What do you mean?”

Jinwoo reached for the tablet and unplugged it from where it was charging and held it up, just like he’d held it in the library so Dongmin could see it. It winked on, and DOngmin realized Jinwoo must have connected to it via bluetooth. 

Usually when Jinwoo connected with something he tilted his head and his gaze went blank for a second; that was just an affectation, a signal so Dongmin knew what he was doing. Connections between devices were instantaneous and intuitive for Jinwoo. Bluetooth devices were extensions of him, essentially. Like additional limbs for him.

A pleasant, deeper woman’s voice narrated over a video of Jinwoo sitting on a pedestal just like the in the window display of the Fantagio Computers outlet near campus.

_ Welcome to the future of video chat. Now even your farthest loved ones are right there with you, with holographic video chat. _

A pretty teen girl said, “Jinjin Pro, call Cousin Hongseok.”

Jinjin Pro said, “Calling Cousin Hongseok.”

A cute ringtone trilled, and then Jinjin Pro’s face was overshadowed by a hologram, just like Bin’s face had been covered by a hologram of Myungjun’s face for the facial recognition portion of his security login, an attractive young man who must have been Cousin Hongseok.

He said, “Cousin Minah! Hello!”

The girl smiled and waved. “Cousin Hongseok, Hi! How are you?”

_ Make eye contact and see each other in real time. Interact like you’re together. _

It was uncanny, seeing the Jinjin Pro’s body but seeing someone else’s face and hearing their voice, especially because the Jinjin Pro’s head moved but the rest of the body did not.

The girl smiled and chatted and laughed like she was having the time of her life talking to her beloved cousin. They made plans to meet up and have a meal together, and the call ended.

_ Never lose touch. Share love no matter the distance. All with the new Jinjin Pro. Only from Fantagio Computers. _

The video ended.

Dongmin looked up at Jinwoo, who seemed completely unbothered by the notion of wearing someone else’s face and speaking with someone else’s voice. He called himself a persocom, a person who was also a computer; where was his sense of self?

“I’m fine with the regular kind of video calling,” Dongmin said. He was used to the odd disjunct of looking at the screen instead of at the camera during video chats so it looked like no one was ever looking at each other; it was how he’d always done video chats. “If you hold the tablet just like that, it’ll be fine. Unless you want to also see my parents?”

“I’ll be processing images of them before I transmit them to the tablet via bluetooth, so I’ll know what they look like,” Jinwoo said. “Do they look like you?”

“I’ve been told I look more like my mother than my father,” Dongmin said. “My brother looks more like my father. He’s better-looking than me, has a smaller face.”

“Is your brother younger or older?” Jinwoo asked.

“Younger. He still lives at home. He has two more years of high school left.” Dongmin went to get his phone. “Let me text my mother to let her know I’m calling. Feel free to make yourself comfortable. After we’ll talk to Myungjun about how I’ll remotely activate you.”

When he returned, Jinwoo was perched on one of the beanbag chairs, tablet framed neatly in his hands. He wore a sweet, friendly smile.

“I look forward to meeting your family. What’s your family’s persocom like?’

“Ah, my family isn’t very wealthy and they only have an older persocom. Her name is Hyerin, and she’s old enough that she can’t do a lot of physical tasks, so she stays in the office and people really only use her to surf the internet and so my younger brother can study and so people can watch dramas as far as I know,” Dongmin said. “You’ll like her, though. She was always very helpful when I studied.”

Dongmin sent his mother a message.

_ Do you have time for a video call, or is someone busy on the computer? _

Her response was immediate.  _ We always have time for you! Are you visiting Myungjunnie again? I’m glad you’re able to spend time together. You both deserve to get out and have fun, or at least see each other. _

_ I’ll be calling now. _

Dongmin told Jinwoo to call his mother’s email address.

“It’s ringing,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin listened to the trill, and then his mother appeared on the tablet screen.

She looked beautiful on the glass screen in high definition, her hair glossy and straight, her clothes stylish, her face glowing. Suddenly Dongmin missed her fiercely, the way she smelled faintly of baby powder when he hugged her, the softness of her knit sweaters, the sound of her cooking while he studied.

“Dongminnie! How are you? Where’s Myungjunnie?”

“I’m in my apartment,” Dongmin said. “Myungjunnie’s at home in his own apartment, I’m assuming.”

His mother blinked. “How are you calling?”

“Ah, I’m calling with my new persocom. Jinwoo, say hello to my Eomma.”

Jinwoo obediently turned the tablet around. “Hello, Dongmin’s Eomma.”

Eomma exclaimed. “Omo! I’ve seen advertisements for this persocom on television. They’re brand new and very expensive. Dongmin, how do you have one?”

Jinwoo turned the tablet back to face Dongmin so he could see Eomma’s wide-eyed expression.

“It’s luck. I entered a random drawing and won.” Dongmin shrugged. “Pure luck. I rearranged my budget a bit so I could have internet at my apartment. This way I can study at home and not have to stay at the library so late when it gets colder this winter.”

Eomma nodded. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear that. And I’m glad we can video call each other! This is very exciting. But persocoms are so expensive. You have to buy so many accessories to go with them.”

“I was very fortunate — he came with a tablet and a monitor and all the cords and cables I needed to get him charged and connected to the internet and whatnot. Cousin Myungjun was kind enough to give me a keyboard and mouse and some bluetooth speakers and also some clothes for him. He’s about the same size as Myungjun-hyung. I’m going to be shameless and see if cousin Myungjun has an old wireless router too. You know he never throws anything away, which is a good thing for me.” Dongmin smiled. “I’m so lucky though. This will help with my studies so much. It’ll save me a lot of time traveling on the bus.”

It wouldn’t really save him on bus fares, but it would save him trips to the library to research.

Eomma smiled at him. “You have been very fortunate. The gods have smiled on you. I’m so happy for you, my Dongminnie.” She turned and called over her shoulder. “Honey! Donghyunnie! Come talk to Dongminnie!” Then she turned back to Dongmin. “So you named him Jinwoo? That’s a cute name. How did you come up with that?”

“Well, his model is Jinjin, but I couldn’t just leave him named that, and then remember how you always said you were going to name me Eunwoo if I was a girl? So I named him Jinwoo.”

Eomma nodded. “It’s a lovely name. I trust you to give your children good names when you become a father.”

Donghyun ambled into the office, gnawing on a candy stick. “Hyung is calling? Is he visiting Cousin Myungjun?” He leaned in and peered over his mother’s shoulder. “Did Cousin Myungjun lose all his furniture?”

“Yah,” Dongmin said lightly. “I don’t have a lot of furniture because being a student is expensive. One day you’ll have to live like this too if you get into a good university.”

Eomma said, “You remember the ads we’ve seen for that new persocom? The one that makes pepero and builds things. Dongminnie won one and is using it for school.”

Donghyun dropped down into the chair beside Eomma. “You have a Jinjin Pro? For real? Pics or it didn’t happen.”

Dongmin said, “Jinwoo, this is Donghyun, my little brother. Donghyun, meet Jinwoo.”

Once again, Jinwoo turned the tablet around and waved, offered a greeting.

“Wow! Jinin Pros have epic video and sound cards. You can play all the latest games on them. Can I borrow him to play Call of Duty with my friends?”

Eomma swatted Donghyun on the arm lightly. “What did I just say? Dongmin needs him to study for school.”

Dongmin laughed. “If you ever come visit me, we can play video games for a bit if you like.”

Donghyun pumped a fist in the air. “Yes! My classmates will be so jealous. They’ll never believe me.”

“Yes, that’s exactly why I put in to win him. How is school going?”

“It’s going well, right Hyerin?”

“Yes, Donghyun-ah,” Hyerin said. Her voice was older and a little more mechanical-sounding, but warmly familiar to Dongmin all the same.

Donghyun grinned. “I’m getting good grades and I’m in the top ten percent of my class.”

“Excellent,” Dongmin said. He leaned in. “I’ll tell you what. If you make it into the top five percent, I’ll let you borrow Jinwoo for a day so you can play video games to your heart’s content.”

Donghyun lit up. “Really?”

“Really. After final exams at the end of the semester, when you get results and I’m home for Christmas, I’ll bring him with me.” Dongmin smiled.

Donghyun said, “Promise?” He extended a pinkie.

Dongmin extended his pinkie as well. “Promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Donghyun said.

Dongmin’s father strode into the office then. “What’s this? I hear my son’s voice?”

“Hello, Appa.” Dongmin smiled.

“Dongmin-ah. How are your studies going?”

“Well,” Dongmin said. “Better, now that I have a persocom.”

Appa raised his eyebrows.

Eomma said, “He was very lucky and won a brand new one.”

“What’s the catch?” Appa asked.

“No catch,” Dongmin said. Despite what Sanha said, what had happened with Changkyun, Jinwoo was totally fine. “It was a promotional thing. I entered just because it couldn’t hurt to try. I didn’t think I’d win, but I did.”

“Well, congratulations. Take good care of your persocom, and he’ll be with you for a long time, like our Hyerin.” Appa reached out and patted Hyerin fondly.

Jinwoo beamed at Dongmin and made a heart sign with one hand.

Dongmin said, “I’ll take good care of Jinwoo.”

Jinwoo peeked over the edge of the tablet and said, “I’ll take good care of Dongmin-ah too.”

Appa looked startled, but then he said, “Thank you. He’s our precious son, and we love him.”

Jinwoo said, “He’s precious to me too.”

Dongmin’s heart thumped oddly at the declaration even though he knew it was just Jinwoo’s friendly mode running its programming.

Eomma asked about how cousin Myungjun was doing, and Madam Jeon’s restaurant, and Dongmin asked about how Appa and Eomma’s work was going, and Donghyun’s extra-curricular activities, and the neighbors, but then Donghyun had to study and Eomma had to do chores and Appa had to run some errands, and they bade each other farewell, but they agreed to video call regularly, and Dongmin was glad, and so grateful that having Jinwoo made this possible.

Dongmin waved goodbye to his family, and Eomma reluctantly ended the call.

The tablet screen went dark, and Dongmin flopped back on the bean bag with a sigh.

“Your family is very kind,” Jinwoo said. 

“I miss them,” Dongmin admitted.

Jinwoo said, “You look like your mother.”

Dongmin sat up and smiled fondly. “She is very beautiful.” Then he said, “I should call Myungjun-hyung.” He patted himself down in search of his phone, only then he heard the familiar trill of a video call, and Myungjun’s face appeared on the tablet screen.

“Hey, you finally got internet at your place. Look at you, joining the twenty-first century, no longer living like a caveman.”

“Hyung, hello. I was about to call you on my phone but I guess Jinwoo called you.” Dongmin smoothed a hand over his hair self-consciously. “How are you?”

“Binnie and I are fine,” Myungjun said. His hair was rumpled and he was still wearing pajamas, a newer set of the kind he’d given to Jinwoo with his name stitched on the pocket in English cursive. “Let me guess, you called me to ask about how to remotely access your darling little Jinwoo with your cellphone?”

Dongmin nodded. “And to also shamelessly beg to have one of your old wireless routers if you have a spare lying around.”

“I do, now that you mention it,” Myungjun said. “They didn’t give you one when they installed your internet?”

“Just the cable modem,” Dongmin said.

Myungjun eyed him. “You really are broke, aren’t you?”

“I’m getting by just fine, thank you,” Dongmin said, avoiding Jinwoo’s gaze and keeping a smile pasted on his face. “So, what do I need to do to remotely access Jinwoo?”

“Hang up this video chat and call me from your phone. Jinwoo needs to stay in your apartment,” Myungjun said.

“All right. I need to find my phone first.” Dongmin patted himself again. “Thanks again, hyung.”

“I really am just glad you’re escaping the hell-pit of the luddites,” Myungjun said. “And also now Binnie and I have another couple we can go on double-dates with.”

Dongmin felt himself turn bright red. “It’s not like that! You know I just needed a persocom for school.”

“And The Nile is just a river in Egypt,” Myungjun said.

Dongmin gaped at him. “Did you just make an English pun?”

“Hang up already,” Myungjun said, and the tablet went blank.

Dongmin jumped to his feet. “Where’s my phone?”

Jinwoo tilted his head, and a moment later Dongmin heard it ring in the bedroom. He stared at Jinwoo.

“Did you just —?”

“Your phone is in the bedroom,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin hurried into the bedroom and found it on the bed. He wasn’t sure how it had ended up there, but he scooped it up, then ran to the door and toed on his shoes, called Myungjun on his way out the door.

“All right, how complicated is this process?” Dongmin asked.

“Not complicated at all,” Myungjun said. “Basically you call Jinwoo, and you login with the pin you set last time as well as your spoken password, and you can issue voice commands remotely, so if you’ve sent him far away, you can still operate him. If you had a smartphone you could just message him, but since you don’t, this is an option.”

“How do I call Jinwoo?”

“Don’t you know what his IP address is?”

“Not off the top of my head, no.”

“Then you’ll have to go back and get it from him. There’s a number you call, and then you type in the IP address, and then you have to enter your password. You can put the number and IP address on speed dial, though, so that’ll save you a lot of time,” Myungjun said. “Really, though, are you sure you don’t want one of my old smartphones? Even if you don’t have a data plan, you can use wifi when you’re on campus or at work. You can pick up the phone when you come to get the wifi router. You’d still have to remote activate him like with your flip phone anyway.”

Dongmin hummed, hesitant, as he headed back down the stairs to his apartment.

“And what’s this about you not getting a wireless router with your internet installation? Dongmin, how hard up  _ are _ you? I know you’re thrifty and a brand new Jinjin Pro is out of just about everyone’s price range unless they buy one on a payment plan, but how bad is it?”

“It’s not that bad,” Dongmin said. “But SKKU is a private university, and they’re a bit more expensive than most, and Donghyun needs to go to a math hagwon for a bit of help this year, even with Hyerin at home, so —”

“You’re not going without food, are you?” Myungjun asked.”

“Of course not,” Dongmin said. “I work at a restaurant.”

“You mean you  _ are _ going without food and making up for it with restaurant leftovers,” Myungjun said.

“I’m  _ fine,” _ Dongmin said, pushing open the door. “I’ll call you back.”

Jinwoo was sitting on the bean bag chair beside the modem. “You didn’t call me.” He looked concerned.

“Ah, yes. I don’t know your IP address, or the number I’m supposed to call for remote access.”

Jinwoo held out his hand. “Let me give you my number.” 

Dongmin handed over his phone, and it occurred to Dongmin that besides getting phone numbers from classmates to make working on group projects more efficient, he’d never gotten a phone number from anyone, not someone he thought was attractive or someone he wanted to make friends with. People had asked Dongmin for his phone number before, but in high school he’d never given it out, citing his promise to his parents that he would not date.

And now, in university, he had neither the time nor the energy.

Jinwoo, with his head bowed over Dongmin’s phone, tapping away, was as close as Dongmin had ever been to getting a number from a cute boy.

Dongmin was several different kinds of pathetic, but before he could dwell on it further, Jinwoo smiled and handed the phone back.

“Thanks,” Dongmin said. “Hopefully this will work.”

He hurried out of the apartment and up the stairs and halfway down the block before he called.

The line rang three times and then a voice that sounded exactly like Jinwoo’s but was probably just a recording said, 

“Please enter your password.”

Dongmin said, “I shattered into pieces as if I was sunlight.”

“Please enter your pin followed by the pound sign.”

Dongmin typed it in quickly.

“Hello, Dongmin-ah,” Jinwoo said.

“Jinwoo-hyung, I’m just down the street from the apartment. Come find me,” Dongmin said. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I’ll be right there,” Jinwoo said.

“See you soon.” Dongmin hung up. He crossed his arms over his chest and deeply regretted not putting on a jacket or even a light sweater, because it was freezing. He’d been tricked by the bright cheery sunlight and the pale blue sky overhead.

A moment later, Jinwoo came trotting up the steps from the apartment. He strode down the sidewalk toward Dongmin. It had worked. Excellent.

Although did persocoms have superhuman hearing?

Also, if Jinwoo didn’t have a mobile data plan, how would Dongmin be able to call him if he wasn’t connected to wifi? Not that there weren’t wifi connections just about everywhere in South Korea. And it wasn’t like Dongmin would be constantly sending Jinwoo on errands. If Jinwoo wasn’t with Dongmin, he’d be back at the apartment, or maybe somewhere else on campus.

Jinwoo saw Dongmin and smiled, waved, trotted over to him.

“I’m here,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin couldn’t help but smile back. “You came.”

“What shall we do now?” Jinwoo asked.

“I need to study a bit more, and then we should go visit Cousin Myungjun and pick up those supplies, and then I’ll have to go to work,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo nodded. “All right. Let’s go study.” He frowned. “You’re shivering.”

“I forgot a jacket. It’s fine.”

Jinwoo caught Dongmin by the wrist and tugged him toward the stairs. “Hurry, before you catch a cold. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dongmin said. “Also I don’t think I even own any hot chocolate.”

But Jinwoo hustled Dongmin down the stairs and steered him over to a bean bag, pushed him gently down onto it and tucked a blanket across his knees — just as Dongmin had done at the restaurant the night before — and then went into the kitchen.

Dongmin reached for his civil procedure textbook, but his phone rang.

“Did it work?” Myungjun asked.

“It did,” Dongmin said. 

“Good. You want a router and a smartphone?”

“If it’s not too much of a bother,” Dongmin said meekly.

“Yah, what happened to you asking shamelessly?”

“I can’t be  _ that _ shameless.”

“Come over here and get them yourself.”

“Of course. I plan on coming by before work. I need to study a bit more first though.”

“You study so hard,” Myungjun said.

Dongmin shook his head. “Don’t take that tone with me, hyung. You study hard too. You pretend to be loud and frivolous and lazy, but I know you. You graduated from high school at the top of your class and —”

“Shh! What if Binnie hears you? Or Jinwoo?” Myungjun hissed.

Dongmin couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine. Your secret is safe with me. See you later.” 

He ended the call and set his phone aside and picked up his textbook to study in earnest, but Jinwoo appeared in front of him holding a mug.

“Have some hot chocolate,” he said.

Dongmin blinked. “Where did you get that?”

“I found it in the cupboard when I was putting the dishes away.” Jinwoo knelt and blew on the surface of the hot chocolate before he held it out. “Be warm and have some energy before you study.”

“Thank you,” Dongmin said, his heart pounding. Blowing on hot chocolate was something straight out of a romance drama, but also persocoms didn’t breathe, so how did Jinwoo even  _ do _ that?

But the hot chocolate was delicious, and Dongmin cradled the warm mug in his hands for a few moments before he drank some more.

Jinwoo remained kneeling beside him, smiling at him, till he was finished, and then he took the mug into the kitchen to wash up.

After that, he sat beside Dongmin on the bean bag chair, turned on some quiet piano music — some Liebstraum — and stayed with him while he studied.

* * *

The trip to Myungjun’s to pick up the router and smartphone was quick. Bin had everything in a bag for them — Dongmin returned the bags the clothes had been in — and Dongmin and Myungjun chatted briefly before Dongmin and Jinwoo headed on to the restaurant.

Minseok and Changkyun eyed Jinwoo with matching wary expressions when he followed Dongmin into the break room, but Jinwoo was tasked with setting up the new smartphone, so he kept to himself while Dongmin worked.

The restaurant was plenty busy, people having their last hurrah before a new work week started, and Dongmin was almost run off his feet.

That strange man was back at the restaurant, this time dining by himself.

“Did you think about my offer?” He held out another business card.

Dongmin pocketed it, determined to throw it away later. “I thought about it, thank you, but I’m not interested. Would you like a refill on your drink?”

The man eyed him but nodded and nudged his drink closer.

Dongmin filled it with a deft tip of the water pitcher. 

“If you ever change your mind, let me know,” the man said.

“I will,” Dongmin said, but he’d ever change his mind. He smiled sweetly and swept back into the kitchen.

The shift ended without further incident, and while the customer kept eyeing Dongmin warily, he didn’t pester Dongmin about being a model for a persocom face, and he left peacefully after his meal, so Dongmin and Minseok cleaned up.

When Dongmin headed back to the break room to take off his apron and surrender it to Granny for laundering, he found Minseok and Madam Jeon eyeing Jinwoo warily.

Changkyun, perched on Minseok’s shoulder and clinging to his hair, was also eyeing Jinwoo warily.

“Is everything all right?” Dongmin asked, untying his apron slowly.

“Your persocom is weird,” Minseok said.

“Did Jinwoo do something?”

“I finished setting up your new phone, Dongmin-ah.” Jinwoo held it out.

“Thank you. I’ll be just a moment.” Dongmin tucked his notepad into his little locker, then folded his apron and set it aside for Granny.

“He didn’t do anything except fiddle with your phone all night,” Minseok said. “But he’s  _ weird. _ Changkyun thinks so too. Right, Changkyunnie?”

Dongmin still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of Yoon Sanha’s comment about Jinwoo having some kind of factory defect that made him unsaleable. “Weird how, Changkyun-ah?”

“He  _ feels _ weird,” Changkyun said, huddling closer to Minseok and pulling on his hair accidentally.

Minseok winced.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel weird, Changkyun-sunbae,” Jinwoo said.

“I didn’t say you made  _ me _ feel weird,” Changkyun said. “I’m not weird.  _ You _ feel weird.”

“Well, you two don’t ever have to connect again, so it should be fine.” Dongmin inclined his head to Madam Jeon. “Come on, Jinwoo. Let’s go home.”

Jinwoo bowed to Madam Jeon and Minseok, and he followed Dongmin to the bus stop.

“What do you think Changkyun meant, that you feel weird?”

“I don’t know,” Jinwoo said. “I don’t feel weird. I just feel like me.”

Dongmin looked at Jinwoo as he sat on the bus shelter bench, taking in the sounds of traffic and the city lights, and wondered if a persocom should be able to say such a thing at all.

“I’ve never had a smartphone before. How hard will it be to use one?”

“You’ve used a tablet before, haven’t you?” Jinwoo asked.

“At school, they had tablets for us to use,” Dongmin said.

“It’s just like a tablet, except smaller.” Jinwoo held out the phone. The back was scratched, but the surface was pristine, and for all that it was a used device, it wasn’t nearly as old as Dongmin’s phone, was a recent enough model, and Dongmin was really grateful to Myungjun and how kind he’d been. “I set it up with your birthday as the PIN, but you can change that. You can add face unlock and fingerprint unlock as well, if you like. I connected to it via bluetooth and set it up so it’s configured for your wifi at home and at Myungjun’s apartment and at the restaurant, and I set up your email and video chatting with Myungjun and your family, and also put some study music on there for you in case you want to study and I’m not around, and also I imported over all your contacts from your old phone, and all your text messages and photos.”

“Thank you,” Dongmin said. “That must have taken a long time.”

“You were working, and I was working too.” Jinwoo smiled.

“I should text Myungjun and let him know the phone works,” Dongmin said.

“Would you like to take a picture and send it to him, so he can see?” Jinwoo asked. “I’m an excellent photographer.”

Dongmin went to hand Jinwoo the phone, then said, “Let’s take a selca together. Myungjun would like that.”

Myungjun sent plenty of pictures together with Bin, at any rate.

Jinwoo nodded obediently and scooted closer, smiled and flashed a peace sign.

Dongmin went to lean in, then paused. “Listen, I know you’re in friendly mode right now, but do you have an...honest mode? Like, I know I said you could be my hyung and all, but if you don’t actually like me, we don’t have to be close. I put in to win you because I need help with school. If you don’t like me, we can just be roommates. Not everyone likes their roommate in college. We can come up with some kind of beneficial side of the arrangement for you, if you prefer.”

Jinwoo frowned. “You don’t want me to be in friendly mode?”

“Earlier you said you didn’t feel weird, you just felt like you. Do you have some kind of just-Jinwoo mode? If you don’t like the name Jinwoo, you can pick a new name too.”

Jinwoo looked at him. “What mode do you want me to be in?”

“It’s not about what I want,” Dongmin said. “I mean, obviously I need your help with school. But besides that, you’re free to do what you want.”

“I like the name Jinwoo,” he said slowly. “I could be in default mode, which is polite mode, if you prefer.”

Dongmin sighed. “What do  _ you _ prefer? You said you like the name Jinwoo, so clearly you have preferences.”

Jinwoo tilted his head, his gaze going blank while he processed. “I don’t know.”

“Well, think about it on the way home, or however long you need.”

Jinwoo nodded and said nothing. The bus arrived, Dongmin paid for tickets, and they sat together near a window in the back. Dongmin wondered if he was being crazy, telling Jinwoo to ignore his preset modes, but then Jinwoo had mentioned that Dongmin could customize his modes, right? Cute, friendly, and flirty weren’t the only mode options, just the preset ones. This was Dongmin customizing Jinwoo’s main operating mode. He was just letting Jinwoo choose the customizations.

Jinwoo was capable of choosing. AIs engaged in high-level decision-making all the time.

Back at the apartment, Dongmin showered and dressed for bed. He polished his work shoes, and while he had the leather polish out, he polished his book bag and set it out overnight to dry.

“I have decided I like being your Jinwoo-hyung,” Jinwoo said finally, while Dongmin was buffing the last of the polish off of the strap of his book bag.

Dongmin had done his best not to press Jinwoo for an answer. The silence had weighed on him, heavy and awkward, but the awkwardness had been one-sided for sure. Jinwoo was taking his time deciding, as Dongmin had told him he could, so why would he feel any guilt or awkwardness in the ensuing silence while he made his decision?

“And I will wait till you’re comfortable enough to drop formalities,” Jinwoo continued. 

“So you’re going to stay in friendly mode?” Dongmin asked. It was hard to trust that Jinwoo choosing something that Dongmin had previously chosen was a real decision at all.

“No, it’s different from friendly mode,” Jinwoo said. “It’s...what did you call it? Just Jinwoo. Next time I’ll polish your shoes and book bag.” Jinwoo plucked the rag and book bag from Dongmin’s hands.

Dongmin blinked, startled. “But —”

“You need to sleep,” Jinwoo said. “I don’t need to sleep.”

“You need to charge,” Dongmin protested.

Jinwoo sank down on the other bean bag chair and set to work. “I can plug myself in and keep on working. This isn’t a difficult task.”

Dongmin watched Jinwoo buff the leather strap with confident strokes of his hand, then finally heaved himself to his feet. He found Jinwoo’s charge cable and carefully opened his earport, plugged him in without disturbing him. Then he tucked a blanket around Jinwoo’s shoulders.

“Don’t stay up too late. Thank you, and good night.”

“Good night, Dongmin-ah. Your hyung will take good care of you.”

Dongmin retreated to the bedroom. He lay there in the darkness and wondered. How would he be able to tell if Jinwoo really was choosing things for himself? And what kinds of things could he do to make sure this arrangement was beneficial for Jinwoo too?

And how would he ever figure out what was wrong with Jinwoo, that Fantagio had just given him away?

* * *

The next day, Dongmin was startled out of sleep by an unfamiliar sound. 

“Wha —?”

It took him a moment to realize it was the sound of the alarm on his new phone, the used smartphone Myungjun had given him.

Dongmin stumbled through his workout on autopilot, flung himself into the shower, threw on clothes, and then ran around the apartment, gathering up his gear so he could head for campus.

“Where’s my book bag?”

“Your book bag is here,” Jinwoo said. He stood in the kitchenette, holding Dongmin’s book bag and also a paper towel with several pieces of triangle kimbap wrapped in it. “Don’t forget to have some breakfast.”

Dongmin came up short. Jinwoo wore another pair of skinny jeans, a button-down shirt, a sweater, and that leather jacket again.

“Oh. Right. You polished it. Thank you.”

“I put the tablet in there, as well as your textbooks for today’s classes, and your binder, your pencil case, your phone, and the charge cords for your phone, tablet, and me.” Jinwoo smiled.

He looked perfect.

“Right,” Dongmin said, and was reminded of how, when he was younger, his mother would hand him his backpack before he headed out the door. He’d always made sure it was packed the night before so he wouldn’t be missing anything. “I’m not usually this disorganized.”

“You had a lot of surprises this weekend,” Jinwoo said. “Here, I’ll carry your book bag while you eat. Come on. I was looking in your closet while I put away my clothes the other day. You don’t have a real winter coat, but you do have plenty of winter accessories, so here’s a scarf and some gloves. It’s going to be very cold today.”

“Ah, thank you.” Dongmin accepted the scarf and draped it around his neck, tucked the gloves into his blazer pocket. “Will you be warm enough?”

Jinwoo nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

“Will your battery be okay?”

“It will be fine,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin glanced at his watch. “Okay. We have to catch the bus. Let’s go.”

“Eat up,” Jinwoo said, and together they headed for the bus stop.

Jinwoo knew which bus to hail, so Dongmin had just enough time to wolf down his kimbap before the bus arrived. Dongmin paid the fare for both of them. Because the bus was crowded, they both had to stay standing.

Dongmin was taller, so he hung onto one of the standing rings, and he put a hand on Jinwoo’s shoulder to keep him steady, protect him from the people around them and the swaying of the bus as it accelerated and slowed. 

There were more persocoms on the bus on a weekday, some digital assistants who accompanied salarymen to the office, some domestic units accompanying younger children to school. More than one head turned when Jinwoo stepped onto the bus.

“Is that a brand new Jinjin Pro?” a high school girl asked.

“Ah, yes,” Dongmin said.

The girl giggled and waved at Jinwoo. “He’s so cute!”

Jinwoo inclined his head politely. “Hello. My name is Jinwoo. I am Dongmin’s hyung.”

The girl blinked. “Wow, his voice is really deep and sexy! He never talks in any of the advertisements. Did you pick that voice setting for him, or is that the default?”

It hadn’t occurred to Dongmin that he could change the sound of Jinwoo’s voice. He looked at Jinwoo.

“Are you happy with how your voice sounds?”

Jinwoo said, “This is my voice. I like how it sounds.”

The girl giggled. “That’s so cute. You talk to him like he’s a real person.”

“He’s a persocom,” Dongmin said. “A person who is also a computer.”

The girl paused and blinked, puzzled. “Oh. Is that what that means? I thought it meant a computer that just looked like a person.”

Dongmin looked at Jinwoo. “Are you a person?” He thought of how Yoonbyul had asked Yeonggu if he was alive.

Jinwoo just laughed and said, “Are  _ you?” _

Dongmin’s heart melted at the sound of Jinwoo’s laughter.

The girl giggled too. “You two are so cute together.”

Jinwoo reached up and ruffled Dongmin’s hair. “We’re hyung and dongsaeng. We take care of each other.”

Dongmin looked at Jinwoo, at his smile that seemed so warm and genuine, and knew he’d have to do his very best to take care of Jinwoo.

Once the bus reached campus, Dongmin led Jinwoo to his first class.

“Only you probably know your way around campus, don’t you? You probably saw my class schedule in my email inbox and looked up a map of campus and know where all of my classes are,” Dongmin said, pushing the door of the lecture hall open.

“Knowing and understanding aren’t the same thing,” Jinwoo said. “Thank you for showing me the way. It was easier to find with you showing me.”

“Good morning, Dongmin-ah,” Jihyo said. “Did you have a good weekend?”

“Yes, thank you,” Dongmin said. “Jinwoo, you can sit there. I usually sit here.”

Jihyo, walking with Jungboon beside her, came up short. “Omo! Is that a persocom? Did you actually get a persocom? Is that a  _ Jinjin Pro? _ You said a refurbished persocom like Yeonggu was too expensive. How on earth did you get your hands on a Jinjin Pro? He’s so cute! Isn’t he cute, Jungboonie?”

Jungboon smiled and waved. “He’s very cute.”

Jinwoo inclined his head politely. “Hello. I’m Dongmin’s Jinwoo-hyung.”

“Ah, I was very lucky and won a drawing,” Dongmin said.

“How? With your face?” Taeil asked. “If it were anyone else I’d have guessed you robbed a bank.” He plopped down on the other side of Dongmin and set his backpack on the desk. A moment later, it unzipped, and Doyeon climbed out.

She scampered along the desk to Jinwoo and put her hands on his shoulders, peered at him.

“You’re strange,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Doyeon tossed her head and scampered back to Taeil, who cuddled her and eyed Jinwoo warily.

“Sungmin,” Taeil called out when the other boy arrived, the lovely Sooah trailing behind him. “Look who finally joined the twenty-first century.”

Jinwoon was showing Dongmin how to use the note-taking app on the tablet with the stylus. “I’ve already connected to the campus wifi,” he said. “If you take notes here, I can back them up to the cloud straight away, and also transcribe them for you to make them searchable for you later. I can also send them to the library to be printed so you can pick them up before your next class, so that way you can have a hard copy to add to your binder.”

“You’re connected to the tablet?” Dongmin asked, ignoring Taeil.

“Via bluetooth,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin nodded. “Okay. Thank you. Also, would you please record Professor Do’s lecture? He goes very fast and sometimes it’s hard to keep up.”

“Of course. If you like, I can transcribe his lecture and compare it to the transcription of your notes and fill in any gaps.” Jinwoo smiled.

Dongmin stared at him. “You can do that?”

“Anything to be helpful to my dongsaeng.” Jinwoo reached out and patted Dongmin’s hair.

Dongmin felt himself blush. “Ah — that would be very helpful. Thank you so much, hyung.”

“Congratulations on your new persocom,” Sungmin said.

“Thank you,” Dongmin said. “Jinwoo, this is Jung Sungmin and Sooah. Jungmin-ssi, Sooah-ssi, this is Jinwoo-hyung.”

Jinwoo greeted them politely.

Taeil hooted. “Your hyung? You didn’t want to be hyung? Sooah calls Sungmin  _ oppa.” _

“I don’t need anyone to call me oppa,” Dongmin said.

And then Yoonbyul arrived with Yeonggu. He sat beside her at her desk, and she issued the standard instruction to record the lecture as soon as it began.

“Hey Yoonbyul,” Taeil called out, “Dongmin finally got a persocom, and he gave it a real name, and he even calls it  _ hyung.” _

Dongmin sighed. “It’s not that big a deal. Jinwoo, this is my classmate Kwon Yoonbyul and her persocom Yeonggu.”

Jinwoo greeted her politely.

Yoonbyul eyed Dongmin. “I thought a law student would be more rational about owning a computer and less sentimental. The law is reason free from passion, isn’t that the famous quote? And yet you gave your computer a human name.”

Dongmin shrugged. “You’re a chemistry major. You believe in science and rationality, right? Yeonggu is just a toaster to you. Do you believe in souls?”

“No,” Yoonbyul said. “There’s no such thing.”

“Then what separates persocoms from humans? Not souls.” Dongmin eyed Yoonbyul, but he was warming up to the debate, feeling the gears in his head turn.

“Emotions,” Jihyo said. “Humans have emotions, but persocoms don’t.”

“How do you know?” Dongmin asked. “Jungboon, when Jihyo goes to a party without you, do you feel sad?”

Jungboon ducked her head and pouted. “I do feel sad. And lonely.”

Jihyo said, “But that’s not a real emotion, that’s a programmed response.”

“How are our emotions any different than a programmed response?” Dongmin asked. “Someone says something rude to you, and you feel hurt. Why is something rude? Because you’ve been taught it’s rude. Why is Jungboon hurt when you leave her behind? Because she’s been taught that you leaving her alone should hurt.”

Jihyo frowned. “But she doesn’t really  _ feel _ it.”

Dongmin tilted his head. “How do you know that? She says she feels it.”

“But she’s just saying it.”

“How do you know anyone feels anything other than they say they feel it?” Dongmin pressed.

Jihyo squirmed. “Stop using your lawyer tricks on me!”

Taeil said, “Persocoms are machines made in factories, and people are...people.”

“People make people too,” Dongmin said, “unless you skipped that class in biology?”

Sungmin snickered, tried to hide it when Taeil glared at him.

“But persocoms are made in a few days or weeks or however and humans take years to, you know, grow up,” Taeil said.

“So persocoms have a more efficient growth and development cycle,” Dongmin said. 

“Humans have DNA and persocoms don’t,” Taeil said.

“Are humans with strictly human DNA the only organisms capable of sentience?” Dongmin asked.

“Of course not,” Sungmin said. He was a biology major.

“So if persocoms can do everything we can do, and feel like we feel, and think like we think, and at their core are made from the same elements as us — as a chemist, you, Yoonbyul, know better than anyone that at the core we’re all made from the same stardust — why are we people and they’re not?” Dongmin asked. “Why do we deserve real names and they don’t?”

Yoonbyul stared at him.

Taeil stared at him.

Jihyo stared at him.

“Do you actually believe that, or are you just playing devil’s advocate because you’re a law student?” Professor Do asked.

Dongmin started violently and twisted around in his chair.

Professor Do stood at the top of the aisle just inside the door. Usually he entered the lecture hall from the lower door, strode straight to the lectern, flipped open his folio, fired up the projector, and launched straight into his lecture.

The other students winced and ducked, but it was no use; Professor Do was in their midst and he had seen all of them.

“Well, I do believe people have souls,” Dongmin said, “but also I don’t think persocoms are precluded from having souls, so I don’t think the existence of souls precludes persocoms from being considered as beings equal to humans. But I do think anyone who doesn’t believe in souls cannot also believe in the inherent subordinate status of persocoms.”

“You don’t think persocoms are precluded from having souls?” Professor Do asked.

“Well, I know at least some Christian denominations believe non-human organisms can have souls, and my mother used to always say if I was bad I’d be incarnated as a rock, and if a rock can have a soul, why not a persocom?” Dongmin said.

Professor Do looked at him for a very long time. Then he beckoned to his own persocom, a teenage boy model named Jaehyun, and headed for the lectern. It was Jaehyun who always ran the slideshow for the lectures.

“I thought I was going to have a heart attack,” Taeil said, clutching his chest.

“He was like a ninja. A terrifying but hot ninja,” Jihyo said.

Yoonbyul said nothing, merely poised her pen to take notes.

She said nothing for the rest of the lecture.

After the lecture, Jinwoo informed Dongmin that he’d saved the recording and uploaded it to the cloud, and the transcription process was underway.

“How do I save the notes?” Dongmin asked. Writing on the tablet with the stylus had been odd at first, because the texture was different from paper, and Dongmin kept trying to turn the page when he reached the end, only there was none.

Jinwoo reached out and curled his hand around Dongmin’s wrist. “You press this button here to save the notes, and this button to upload a PDF to the cloud, and this button to transcribe the notes into searchable text and upload the text document to the cloud.”

His hand was warm and soft and felt real. Human.

“Would you like me to send your notes to the library printer for you to pick up on our way to your next class?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin considered. “You know, I’ll be fine in the rest of my lectures by myself. Professor Do is the one who goes really fast. I’ll take notes with the tablet and print them all at the end of the day and grab them on the way home. You, though. You can go home if you like. Stay warm. Recharge.”

He smiled tentatively. He didn’t want to be one of those weirdos who had his persocom with him all the time, like some kind of possessive boyfriend. Not even Myungjun had Bin with him all the time, only had him around for the classes where a computer was absolutely necessary.

Sungmin took Sooah everywhere with him, though. Ate lunch with her. Talked to her. He didn’t have any human friends.

Dongmin didn’t really have any human friends, and while he had made an impassioned argument for why Jinwoo and other persocoms could legitimately be considered real people, Jinwoo was a real person with a life of his own. So. When he wasn’t helping Dongmin in class, he should be able to live his life, right?

Only Jinwoo looked shocked and a little hurt. “You want me to leave you?”

“You can go home,” Dongmin said. “You don’t have to stay with me. You’re not in friendly mode anymore, right? We talked about how our arrangement should be mutually beneficial. You’ve helped me out in lecture. Now this is me helping you out. You can go do your thing. Just, you know, try to stick near a wifi connection as much as possible in case I need to reach you. Up until today I’ve been managing pretty well in my classes without a laptop. It was really just Professor Do’s class where I was struggling. That and having to stay late at the library. You don’t have to be stuck with me all the time.”

Jinwoo studied Dongmin for a long moment. “So I can go home and do what I want?”

Dongmin nodded. “Just — take care of yourself, yes? Be safe. I don’t want you to get hurt. And not just because you’re expensive and new. But because I know you can feel pain.”

“You really don’t need me to stay with you?”

“I’ve been fine without you for this long. I think I’ll survive,” Dongmin said. “Oh. Wait.” He reached into his book bag for his wallet, counted out some money carefully. “Go to a thrift store and buy yourself a book bag or backpack you like, for your charge cord and other supplies you might need as time goes on, okay? I don’t have a lot of money, so it’ll have to be used, but thrift stores often have really cute or trendy items, and sturdy items, too. This book bag was my father’s, but he and I have taken good care of it, so it’s very sturdy.” Dongmin patted it fondly.

“Get myself a backpack. Okay.” Jinwoo nodded.

Dongmin fished Jinwoo’s charge cord out of his backpack and tucked it into Jinwoo’s jacket pocket. “When I’ve saved up a bit I’ll buy a spare charge cord so we both always have one.”

“All right. Don’t forget to eat lunch,” Jinwoo said. “Stay warm.”

“You too,” Dongmin said, dodging the issue of lunch entirely, because it wasn’t like he’d forget to eat lunch. He just planned on skipping it, because he had to.

Jinwoo headed for the bus stop, and Dongmin headed for his next class. After having Jinwoo as a constant companion for most of the weekend, it felt a bit odd, being by himself. Even when Dongmin had been working at the restaurant, while he’d been out on the restaurant floor, he’d known Jinwoo was in the break room, was  _ there _ even if they weren’t shoulder-to-shoulder.

Missing Jinwoo was silly. He’d only been in Dongmin’s life for two days. Dongmin had lived his entire life without Jinwoo. He had a routine, a good routine, one that worked. For the most part, he got good grades and he studied well and he was a successful student and employee. He didn’t really have time to be missing Jinwoo. He had to concentrate on his classes.

But he was suddenly even more aware than ever before of the other students — seemingly all of them — who had persocoms and laptops with them in lectures. Not every student used their persocoms in every lecture to record the professor or take notes; plenty of students still took notes by hand, as Dongmin did. But he noticed how the others sat beside their persocoms, smiled at them, interacted with them. Some students had their persocoms hold little tablets to use as screens while they typed notes, as Jinwoo had done for him. Some persocoms acted as more regular assistants, holding a multitude of colored pens for some kind of complicated color-coded note-taking scheme. Yoonbyul, it seemed, was in the minority for seeing Yeonggu as little more than a toaster.

While plenty of students seemed fond of their persocoms, though, Sungmin was also in the minority in treating Sooah like she was his best friend, his only friend. Most persocoms occupied a position somewhere between favored servant and adored pet.

No. Dongmin had to focus on his lectures, then head on back to his apartment and have supper and study some more.

He swung by the library and printed off his lecture notes, tucked them into his binder, and then headed for the bus stop. He hoped Jinwoo was all right, that he’d made it around all right, that he’d been able to buy a backpack and make it back to the apartment. There were a few rare establishments that refused to do business with a persocom if it was unaccompanied by a human, and some people refused to do business with persocoms, insisting on dealing with a human employee.

There were a few cases of people stealing a persocom while it was out and about with its owner, but those cases were quite rare, as expensive persocoms were outfitted with GPS trackers, as they used those for GPS map functions to help their owners with directions.

But Jinwoo was a brand new model, and a quite recognizable one.

Should Dongmin have kept Jinwoo by his side? So many people had commented on him.

By the time the bus pulled into the stop for Dongmin’s apartment, he was fretting and anxious.

He hopped off the bus, ready to break into a sprint.

Jinwoo stood on the sidewalk, grinning.

“Welcome back,” he said.

Relief flooded Dongmin’s limbs. “You’re here.”

“I wanted to greet you,” Jinwoo said. He turned and posed. “Also, I purchased a backpack. Is it to your liking?”

The backpack he’d found was a sturdy black canvas number with purple accents, not a brand Dongmin recognized but it looked serviceable and also trendy. 

“It looks good,” Dongmin offered, “but what really matters is that you like it.”

Jinwoo smiled. “I do like it.” He patted the strap at his shoulder. “I like the color. I also had enough change to buy a small wallet.”

“Good! That’s good. Excellent choice.” Dongmin smiled, pleased that Jinwoo had taken the initiative for himself. “Let’s head on home.”

“Supper’s ready and waiting,” Jinwoo said.

“What? But I was going to cook.” Dongmin blinked.

“I tracked your journey home and started cooking so it would be warm when you arrived. When we went grocery shopping together you explained the weekly menu to me, and I was able to find the appropriate recipes online.” Jinwoo looked pleased with himself.

Dongmin slowed. “Jinwoo, you didn’t have to.”

“But you have to study, and I like being your hyung, and that means taking care of you. Now hurry, before it gets cold,” Jinwoo said.

Jinwoo wasn’t wearing a warm coat, Dongmin noticed, so he picked up his pace.

Inside the apartment, Jinwoo took his coat and hung it up. While Dongmin was in the bedroom setting down his book bag, Jinwoo was setting the table.

They sat together.

“How were your classes?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin told him about the things he’d learned, interesting bits of trivia he’d picked up.

“And you? How was shopping? You were safe? Shop owners weren’t rude to you because you were an unaccompanied persocom? You were warm?”

“Shopping was fine,” Jinwoo said. “I was safe. Shop owners weren’t rude to me because I was an unaccompanied persocom. I was warm.” He looked amused. Then he said, “How is the food?”

“It’s delicious,” Dongmi said. He almost said,  _ Try some yourself, _ but of course persocoms didn’t eat.

Jinwoo smiled and rested his chin in his hand. “Watching you eat well makes me happy.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Well, I can’t be your mother because I’m a man. But you could call me  _ daddy.” _

Dongmin choked on a mouthful of kimchi fried rice. Jinwoo reached out and pounded him on the back, then handed him a glass of water.

“Are you all right?” Jinwoo asked.

“Ah — I think I’ll stick to calling you hyung,” Dongmin said, once he could breathe again.

“I was just kidding,” Jinwoo said. “Don’t I have to be rich for you to call me  _ daddy? _ Or is that  _ sugar daddy? _ I was researching slang while I cooked.”

Dongmin nearly choked again, drank some more water quickly. “Really, can we stick to hyung and dongsaeng? That’s much more comfortable.”

Jinwoo looked amused, but then the amusement faded. “This morning, in your first class, what you said to your classmates. Do you really think I’m a person?”

Dongmin sobered. “The answer has to be yes. I thought about it a lot. I regret treating Hyerin like she wasn’t a person, so I’m going to do my best to treat you as a person.”

“If you really believe I’m a person, will you believe what I say, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I say I like something, or choose something, or feel something. You believe most other people when they say how they feel or what they like or what they’ve chosen, right?” Jinwoo caught Dongmin’s gaze and held it.

Dongmin shivered under the intensity of it. “I do.”

“Absent some obvious indicator that I’m deceiving you, you’ll believe me?” Jinwoo pressed.

Dongmin straightened up. “Can persocoms lie? I thought you couldn’t lie.”

“And yet you never seem to believe me when I say I want something or choose something.” Jinwoo raised his eyebrows.

“It’s just — I know you’ve been programmed. And I can’t help but feel like your programming robs you of choice, and I want you to be able to choose freely.”

“How are the choices you make any less the result of how you’ve been programmed by the things you’ve experienced?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin stared at him. Then he nodded ruefully. “All right. Point taken. Thank you for this delicious meal, and I will do my best to respect your decisions and feelings in the future.”

“Good. Now, eat up, and you can study while I wash up.”

“You have to appreciate how it seems from my perspective, though,” Dongmin said. “That your enjoyment of servitude seems unnatural and perhaps the result of humans programming you to be subservient.”

Jinwoo nudged a dish of peanut sauce chicken toward Dongmin. “Try to appreciate things from my perspective. I used to be kept in a box. Now I get to move around and do new things and try new things. Everything I cook is new. Doing dishes is new.”

“It’ll get old fast.”

“Let me be the one to decide that. You’ve been doing dishes for how many years?”

“Your memory is much more perfect than mine.”

“Which is why you need to study and I don’t.”

Dongmin stared at Jinwoo. Jinwoo stared right back at him.

“Besides, I can’t enjoy things like food and sleep. You should enjoy them for me. You should tell me about your dreams. Persocoms don’t dream, not like you do.” Jinwoo rested his chin in his hand again and looked fond.

“So robots don’t dream of electric sheep?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo’s gaze went blank for a moment, and then he laughed. “No, we don’t, but the concept is clever.”

“Do you have dreams in the aspirational sense?” Dongmin asked. “If you didn’t have to live with me and help me with my studies, if you could move freely in this world, what would you do?”

“How do you know that my goal isn’t to move freely in this world, and that’s why I’m living with you and helping you with your studies? You’re going to be a lawyer one day. Plenty of lawyers go on to become lawmakers.” Jinwoo smiled.

Dongmin stared at him. Were persocoms capable of playing that kind of long game? He pushed the thought aside. “You didn’t answer my question, though. If you could move freely in this world, what would you do?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jinwoo admitted. “Right now, I like being with you.”

Dongmin finished off the rice and chicken. “This is why I’m not making you stay with me through every lecture. First of all, I don’t need you, so having you hanging around is a waste of resources. Second of all, you have the freedom to figure out what you want to do.”

“Thank you,” Jinwoo said slowly.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Besides pepero making, are there other skills you have?” Dongmin asked.

“My model comes with many upgrades and unlockable options — construction, engine mechanicing, other professional packages — but I can’t access those skills on my own.”

Dongmin eyed him and wondered if Myungjun could jailbreak him and just unlock those for his benefit. “Do any of those options sound fun for you? If so, I could save up and we could purchase one of them.”

“How many things are you saving up for?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin thought of the series of envelopes tucked into the kitchen drawer, each filled with little wads of cash that he’d been slowly accumulating over time as funds for different people and projects. “A lot of things,” he admitted.

Jinwoo eyed him. “You work very hard.” He cast an eye around Dongmin’s apartment. “You don’t have a lot.”

“Well, I don’t have a lot now, but if I work hard now I’ll have more later,” Dongmin said, “and also I can help my family and Donghyun. Also Myungjun has been very generous. And I’ve been incredibly lucky. You’re in my life.”

Jinwoo said, “You didn’t buy me, so technically you don’t own me. I could just leave.”

Fear curled low in Dongmin’s gut. “You could,” he said. “If you really wanted to, I wouldn’t stop you. But if there’s anything I could do to convince you to stay, to make this a mutually beneficial arrangement, I will.”

“I already told you,” Jinwoo said. “I like being your hyung.”

“But why? You barely know me. It usually takes most people a while to reach the hyung-dongsaeng part of their relationship.”

“Most people would have insisted on making me dongsaeng,” Jinwoo said. 

“I already have a dongsaeng.”

“Most people wouldn’t care what I think or feel.”

“Just because someone treats you with baseline courtesy doesn’t mean they’re anything special,” Dongmin said, a little unnerved by the intensity in Jinwoo’s gaze.

“You said you’d trust that I know my own feelings,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin sucked in a deep breath. “You’re right. I apologize. Thank you for the lovely meal. I’ll study now.”

Jinwoo said, “Relax for a bit. You’ve been studying all day. Do you want to watch a drama? Or maybe just a short comedic video? While I do the dishes.”

That actually didn’t sound like a bad idea. 

“I wonder if FTIsland has had a comeback lately. I sort of lost track of them at the beginning of senior year.” Dongmin went and fished his tablet out of his book bag. He went to settle on the couch with it, but the battery was low, so he plugged it in to charge. 

Jinwoo ferried dishes into the kitchen.

“Look, I respect that you want to take care of me, but at least respect that I can’t just watch someone else do all the chores,” Dongmin said. He rolled up his sleeves.

“Fine,” Jinwoo said. “But at least enjoy this.”

The OLED monitor in the corner came to life. Jinwoo had stood it up in the corner while Dongmin was in class, angled it so it could be seen from anywhere in the den.

Dongmin watched YouTube come up on the screen, watched FTIsland’s most recent comeback stage pop up. Right. Jinwoo could connect to the monitor via bluetooth even while he was doing other tasks.

Soft piano music wasn’t what Dongmin was expecting from the powerhouse rock band, even though they’d produced powerful ballads before. 

“C sharp major,” Dongmin said.

“You can tell by hearing?” Jinwoo asked.

“I used to play piano.”

“You must have played well.”

“I played for at least an hour every day, but I don’t have access to a piano anymore,” Dongmin said. “It’s a pretty song.”

It was a beautiful song, a sweeping emotional ballad, with soaring vocals. Dongmin was entranced.

“Thank you,” Dongmin said when the video finished. “That was lovely.”

He turned to Jinwoo, who had washed all the dishes and was halfway through drying them.

“You — you tricked me!”

“Did you enjoy the song?” Jinwoo asked.

“Yes, but —”

“I’m glad. You can help me now.” Jinwoo smiled and held out a dish towel.

Dongmin accepted it from him and helped finish drying the dishes and put them away. Once the kitchen was clean, he settled onto one of the bean bag chairs with his textbooks to study.

Jinwoo sat beside him. “Would you like some music?” 

“Some classical music would be pleasant, if you don’t mind,” Dongmin said.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I minded. I like music.” Jinwoo smiled.

“Do you get bored, when I study?”

“I like watching you study, but I can play video games or read books or watch dramas if I do get bored,” Jinwoo said.

“Persocoms probably get bored faster than humans, because you think faster, right?” Dongmin studied Jinwoo, who was perched cutely on the bean bag, gazing at him earnestly.

“Experiencing is interesting. It’s not boring. Everything is new, and I like it.”

“...So you’re basically like a child. Everything is new.” Dongmin swallowed hard.

Jinwoo laughed and shook his head. “No, not like a child. Like a visitor. This is a new place, and I’m learning and experiencing new things.”

Dongmin wasn’t sure he bought that explanation, but he remembered Jinwoo’s request, that Dongmin treat him like a human and trust his assertions about how he felt and thought, so he said, “Okay. You’re an exchange student and I’m part of your host family.”

“Yeah. Like that.” Jinwoo’s smile was crinkle-eyed and bright, and Dongmin’s heart fluttered.

“I hope you can enjoy and experience many things when you’re not with me in class,” Dongmin said. “One day, when I have a good job, I’ll repay you for all your help and let you experience all kinds of fun things, all right?”

“Thanks to you I’m no longer in a box in storage. Maybe I need to repay you,” Jinwoo said. He patted Dongmin’s hand and said, “Study well. I’ll bring you a snack later.”

Dongmin nodded. Strains from Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet hovered just above the threshold of hearing, and Dongmin lost himself in his reading. He surfaced when Jinwoo touched his arm gently, brought him some chamomile tea and cookies, and he paused to drink and eat. Jinwoo asked him about what he learned, and Dongmin explained while he nibbled on the cookies, and then he continued studying.

He finished around eleven, and by then he was yawning and blinking sleepily, so he washed up, and he helped tuck Jinwoo into a blanket nest on the bean bag chairs, plugged him in to charge, and slept.

The next day, he didn’t need Jinwoo to come to class with him, so after he washed up and dressed he grabbed some kimbap and headed for the door.

“Are you sure?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin nodded. “I’m sure. I’ll be fine. I’m doing well in these classes. Go do something fun, something for yourself.”

“Like what?’

“You could go window-shopping.” Dongin considered. “You like dogs and puppies, right?”

“But animals don’t like persocoms.”

“You could go window-shopping at a pet store, though. You could see the animals but you wouldn’t have to interact with them. It’d be better than just looking at a video,” Dongmin said. “Probably you couldn’t go to a zoo, but a pet store could be nice. And you could maybe go to a mall and look at other things as well. Experience new things.” Dongmin smiled reassuringly, then waved and headed out the door to catch the bus.

It was just his imagination. Jinwoo didn’t really look disappointed that Dongmin had left without him. Jinwoo said he liked being Dongmin’s hyung, but that didn’t mean hanging around him all the time. Dongmin didn’t hang around Donghyun all the time when he was at home, after all.

Dongmin had school to focus on, and Jinwoo had a life to live.

* * *

“You came.” Jinwoo stood on the sidewalk, smiling, when Dongmin stepped off of the bus.

“You’re here.” Relief washed over Dongmin. All day, Dongmin had, stupidly, missed Jinwoo. He’d spent his lunch break studying alone in the library, wishing he could be sitting with Jinwoo and listening to music. If he saved up for a pair of bluetooth headphones, they could sit anywhere together during breaks between classes and listen to music and study.

Except Jinwoo wasn’t supposed to follow Dongmin around to all of his classes like other persocoms. Jinwoo was supposed to live his own life.

“I made dinner.” Jinwoo turned and headed for the apartment, so Dongmin fell into step beside him.

“Thank you.”

“How were classes today?” Jinwoo asked.

“They were good.” For the most part, Dongmin wasn’t fond of small talk, but having someone to come home to, to talk to was very pleasant. He hadn’t realized how lonely he was, living alone all these months. “How was your day?”

“I went to the mall, like you suggested. I went to the pet store.”

“I’m not allowed to have pets in my apartment,” Dongmin said quickly.

“I know,” Jinwoo said, looking wistful. But then he lit up. “The puppies liked me.”

Dongmin, halfway out of his shoes, paused. “Really?”

Jinwoo nodded, and the monitor turned on. YouTube turned on, and then a video fired up.

_ Puppies love this persocom! _ was the title of the video. The image in the thumbnail was of a Jinjin Pro — no, Jinwoo cuddling a puppy.

The video started, clearly shot by an amateur, probably on a camera phone. Jinwoo stood inside a pet store just beside a glass-walled puppy enclosure, cradling a squirming chocolate lab puppy, crooning to it.

_ “Hello! What’s your name?” _

Someone off-screen said,  _ “Her name is Danbi.” _

Jinwoo cuddled the puppy, who nuzzled him affectionately.  _ “Hello, Danbi. You’re so cute!” _

Other people murmured off-screen. 

_ “Are you really a persocom?” _ the girl filming Jinwoo asked. 

_ “Yes, my name is Jinwoo. I’m a Jinjin Pro.”  _ Jinwoo scratched behind Danbi’s ears, and she panted happily. 

_ “Animals don’t like persocoms,”  _ someone else said off-screen. 

_ “Danbi likes me, don’t you, pretty girl?” _ Jinwoo held her up, and she nuzzled his nose with hers. 

Then she started licking his face, and he gave a startled gasp.

_ “What’s this? My face isn’t dirty, and my face isn’t tasty. You can’t eat a persocom.” _

_ “She’s giving you kisses,” _ the girl filming him said.  _ “Because she likes you.” _

_ “Oh. Jinwoo-oppa likes you too.” _ And Jinwoo pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

There was a murmured but still audible conversation offscreen.

_ “Do you think other animals will like him, or that one dog is a fluke?” _

_ “Should we find out? For science.” _

_ “What if he gets bitten or damaged?” _

_ “His owner can repair him.” _

_ “His owner could get mad and sue us.” _

_ “His owner shouldn’t have let him out alone.” _

Dongming curled his hands into fists, but then someone handed Jinwoo another puppy, and it immediately nuzzled under his chin, and soon he was sitting on the floor as half a dozen puppies crawled all over him, vying for his attention. He was delighted. One of the shop employees gave him some treats to feed to the puppies, showed him how to offer it on a flat open palm.

_ “Are you  _ really _ a persocom?” _ the girl holding the camera asked.

Jinwoo looked at her and said,  _ “I really am. Why would someone pretend to be a persocom?” _

_ “True,”  _ someone off-screen said, and there were other murmurs of assent.

The video ended then, badly edited, probably on the girl’s phone.

Dongmin turned to Jinwoo. “Are you okay? Did you get scratched or bitten?”

“I’m fine. The puppies were really adorable, and they liked me.” Jinwoo was grinning, delighted.

“I’m glad. So you had a good time at the mall?” Dongmin relaxed enough to uncurl his fists, finish taking off his shoes and hang up his jacket, put his book bag in his bedroom.

“Come have dinner and I’ll tell you about it.”

It should have felt odd, being the only one eating, but the look on Jinwoo’s face while Dongmin ate was familiar, like the one Dongmin’s mother wore when she watched him eat, fond, so Dongmin made sure to compliment Jinwoo’s cooking. The compliments were honest, because he was a very good cook for someone who couldn’t taste the food while he worked.

Jinwoo talked delightedly about the puppies and the bunnies and the kittens and the ferrets and hedgehogs and the chinchillas at the pet store, but mostly the puppies. He also talked about wandering around the mall in general, and seeing all the bright colors and all the people and all the different things for sale.

He could see what was for sale online, and he knew of different online stores, but seeing what was sold in physical stores was different, and he could see colors digitally, but some colors existed in the real world that he’d never experienced before, that he had no names for.

“Colors on a screen are all discrete. Different. On a webpage a blue blanket is not a blue blanket — it’s a bunch of different shades of blue coded together. But in the real world, one tree is green, but it’s also so many greens, you know?” Jinwoo’s expression was earnest.

Dongmin nodded. “Yeah. I guess I never thought of the world the way you must see it inside your head. I’ve never had a chance to see the world that way.”

“Was your day all right?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin shrugged. “It was just another day at school. I’m glad you had a good day. Hearing you had a good day makes me feel better. I think I understand my father a bit more, when he’d come home from work and ask us how our day was and feel glad that we’d had good days.”

“You need me for Professor Do’s lecture tomorrow morning, right?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin nodded, and together they cleared away the dishes, washed up.

Jinwoo turned on some more FTIsland for Dongmin.

“If you don’t mind,” Dongmin said.

“I don’t mind,” Jinwoo said. “Your notes from last lecture were pretty good. There weren’t too many holes. I think you were more relaxed, knowing that you had a backup recording, so your handwriting was better and more legible.”

Dongmin smiled at him. “I really appreciate the help.”

Once the dishes were finished, Dongmin settled in to study, and Jinwoo sat beside him, playing more classical music but also playing some kind of video game on mute on the monitor. It was some kind of cute little racing game.

“Won’t you always win, though?” Dongmin asked.

It was odd to watch Jinwoo play, because he didn’t need a controller, could use his own internal controls, and he leaned and swayed with his little car as it went around curves on the screen, seemingly controlled by nothing but Jinwoo’s mind.

“Not always. Haven’t you ever beat a CPU in a race in a game?” Jinwoo asked.

“Only if it was set to easy,” Dongmin said. “But I’m bad at games. Do the other players know you’re a persocom?”

“No,” Jinwoo said. “I signed in using your account.”

Indeed, the little cart Jinwoo was racing with had the username DingDongMin.

“But then how do I know if any of them are human either? We could all be persocoms.”

Dongmin thought of the girl on the video who kept asking if Jinwoo was really a persocom, and how he’d asked why anyone would pretend to be a persocom; but online, plenty of persocoms might pretend to be humans. Animals loved Jinwoo, which was weird. Doyeon and Changkyun thought Jinwoo was weird, too.

Was it part of the factory defect that that high school student Yoon Sanha had mentioned, that no one seemed to know about or be able to detect?

What kind of defect made a persocom weird to other persocoms but likeable to puppies?

When bedtime arrived, Dongmin was still puzzling over the issue. He plugged Jinwoo in and tucked him into his bean bag nest, and then he lay in bed and wondered, and he hoped Jinwoo was all right.

* * *

The next day, they headed off to class together, Dongmin munching on triangle kimbap, Jinwoo quietly by his side. After Professor Do’s lecture, Dongmin said,

“Is there any way I can message you throughout the day? Just to make sure you’re all right. I know you have plans to go out and do things on your own. But Just in case.”

Jinwoo turned to him and smiled. “Yes, I do have an internal message system. That number you call to activate me remotely — you can text it. It’s like my phone number. Although I do have an email address, too. You could use it to video call me on your phone, or email me, or send me instant messages. I wouldn’t receive them or answer them till I connected to wifi, but there’s wifi everywhere, so I can check frequently.”

“Obviously you don’t have to check on me,” Dongmin said. “But if the dogs hadn’t liked you and had bitten you, would you have been able to reach me?”

“I would have let you know,” Jinwoo said. “I just didn’t want to bother you while you were in class.”

“I always turn my phone to silent when I’m in class, but if it’s a real emergency, if you’re really hurt, the kind of thing you can’t self-repair, it doesn’t matter if I’m in class. Contact me.” Dongmin caught Jinwoo’s gaze and held it. “Okay?”

Only if Jinwoo were really injured, would he be able to contact Dongmin?

Jinwoo nodded. “Okay. Study well in the rest of your classes. Have a good lunch.”

Dongmin said, “Have a fun day. Stay safe,” and avoided discussion of lunch altogether. He’d brought a couple of packets of hot cocoa from home. He could get hot water from the cafeteria, and that would tide him over till his afternoon lectures. The sugar would give him a boost and the hot water would fill his belly. Everything would be fine.

He waved and watched Jinwoo head for the bus stop. With his little backpack and his cute clothes and sneakers, he could almost pass for a student, but for his distinctive earports. Not even a cute winter hat would disguise those. And it was getting colder.

With Jinwoo traveling around, the cost of his bus fare was putting a dent in Dongmin’s careful budget, plus the new cost of internet, and maybe the cost of getting a mobile data plan so Dongmin could stay in contact with Jinwoo for his own safety would be a lot.

But most people ate much more in a day than they needed to. Dongmin could get by on two meals, especially if he rationed out the leftovers from the restaurant very carefully, he might even get three meals sometimes.

But he could study extra on his lunch breaks, and then he could spend time with Jinwoo in the evenings — if Jinwoo wanted — or relax, and that would be better for him mentally.

So he headed to his next class.

Halfway there, his phone buzzed.

A selca, from Jinwoo-hyung, of him sitting at the bus stop, smiling.  _ Have a good day! _

He looked adorable, and Dongmin felt warm, pleased. And then he wondered. How had Jinwoo taken a picture of himself? Dongmin puzzled over it for a moment. It was his reflection in the glass of the advertisement. Jinwoo’s eyes were cameras.

Dongmin paused and took a selca, sent it back to Jinwoo-hyung.  _ You too! Stay safe and warm! _

And then he headed off to his next class with a spring in his step.

Throughout the rest of the day, Dongmin and Jinwoo exchanged text messages and selcas. Jinwoo had decided to go visit Olympic Park, because he’d looked it up and heard it was pretty this time of year. Jinwoo posed in front of some of the statues, and with colorful spills of autumn leaves. There was even a picture of him kneeling and petting a pedestrian’s dog, beaming as it licked his face.

_ Where are you even getting these pictures from? _ Dongmin asked on his lunch break, while he sat in the law student cafeteria with his hot cocoa.

_ People take them for me and send them to me because I’m so cute, _ was his response.

Dongmin wasn’t sure how he felt about strangers having Jinwoo’s email address or phone number, but then his phone buzzed with another incoming text.

_ Is this  _ your _ Jinwoo? _ It was a message from Myungjun with a link to the video Jinwoo had showed him last night.

_ Yes, he went to a pet store while he was window-shopping while I was in class, _ Dongmin replied.

_ First of all, that’s so cute I can’t even. Second of all, have you seen how many hits that video has? Third of all, that’s impossible — animals know persocoms aren’t real humans, _ was Myungjun’s response.  _ You and Jinwoo need to come hang out with me and Bin this weekend.  _

_ If I get enough studying done, we will, if Jinwoo wants to, _ Dongmin replied. 

Out of curiosity, he clicked on the link to the video — and stared at the five million hits it had. He scrolled through the comments out of curiosity, even though he was well aware that the YouTube comment section on any given video was where civility went to die, but most of them were about how cute Jinwoo was and how adorable the puppies were. A few were skeptical about Jinwoo actually being a persocom, although plenty of people pointed out that he looked just like an actual Jinjin Pro. Other people pointed out that he could be the face model for the Jinjin Pro, and then some people piled on and insisted that no real human could be that handsome.

YouTube suggested several other videos of unique persocoms who seemed like humans. Dongmin was curious, but he had to keep studying. He downed the rest of his hot cocoa and kept on studying. Once he was done with classes, he could head home and see Jinwoo, and all would be well.

Even though Jinwoo had been sending messages all day and Dongmin knew he was safe, Dongmin had missed him, and when he stepped off the bus and Jinwoo was there, Dongmin was happy, not just relieved that Jinwoo was all in one piece.

“Did you miss me?” Jinwoo asked, grinning. He was wearing his backpack and looked like he’d just made it back himself.

“I did,” Dongmin said, because he saw no reason to lie to Jinwoo; after all, Jinwoo never lied to him.

“I haven’t started dinner yet, but you can relax and study while I cook. Unless you want to help?” Jinwoo fell into step beside Dongmin.

“You’re a much better cook than me,” Dongmin admitted. “Do you want me to help?”

“You should study. If you study lots during the week you can have more free time on the weekend, and besides, you always help me clean up.” Jinwoo pushed the door open, and they took off their shoes.

Seeing Jinwoo’s smaller shoes beside Dongmin’s made him feel absurdly pleased. Dongmin nudged his shoes neatly into place — at home, he’d liked lining up his family’s shoes from biggest to smallest, just to see all of them, even though eventually he and Donghyun and their father all had about the same shoe size — and then shrugged off his jacket and scarf before going to build himself a little study nest among the bean bags.

He liked that the den and kitchenette were all one open space; that way he could still see and hear Jinwoo even while he studied, could smell the food as he cooked, and it was like being at home again, with his family. Dongmin could have had a roommate in this tiny apartment, and his landlord was still technically looking for a roommate for him to bring in some extra money, but so far no one wanted to live in the cramped little basement apartment with the bare walls.

Dongmin settled in with some reading, and Jinwoo bustled around in the kitchen. After about an hour, food was ready.

“That smells amazing.” Dongmin set his books aside and joined Jinwoo at the table. 

Jinwoo beamed. “Eat lots.”

“I’ll eat well.” Dongmin dug into some jjamppong and rice and steamed vegetables. “Tell me about your day.”

Jinwoo nodded, and he fired up the monitor to better show off the pictures he’d sent, give Dongmin more context about them. He’d ridden the bus and enjoyed looking out the windows, hiked around the park by himself. Even though he knew much about The 1988 Summer Olympics, which countries had participated and had earned how many medals, seeing the park in person and reading about past events and achievements had been enlightening to him.

“Humans are so amazing,” Jinwoo said. “You’re so fragile, but you can do such feats of strength and flexibility and speed and grace.”

Dongmin had never thought of himself as fragile before. He wasn’t about to throw himself off of a cliff or in front of a moving car, but he wasn’t exactly fragile. “Thank you? I guess.” Then he eyed Jinwoo. “What about persocoms? I know you’re all stronger than us. Are you also faster and more flexible?”

Jinwoo nodded.

Dongmin eyed Jinwoo. “Are you more graceful, though? If someone put on music, could one of you get ten points in rhythmic gymnastics?”

“That’s not one of my specialties,” Jinwoo said. “I can make pepero.”

“Are there persocoms who could do that kind of thing?”

Jinwoo shrugged. “I don’t see why not. We could be programmed to do anything, the same way humans can learn to do anything, right?”

Except not every human could learn to do anything. Individual humans had limits. But not persocoms. Any persocom literally could learn to do anything, given the right programming. Sure, a taller persocom than Jinwoo might be better suited to, say, playing basketball, but Jinwoo could learn to play basketball if it was programmed into him, couldn’t he?

“Well, what else did you see at the park?”

Jinwoo told Dongmin about how beautiful the park was. Multiple websites had listed it as one of the prettiest places to visit in autumn. “I caught a beautiful red maple leaf as it fell, and I made a wish.” He reached into his backpack, and he drew out a carefully preserved red leaf from a Japanese maple, which had been pressed between a couple of napkins.

“It’s lovely,” Dongmin said. “I wonder if there’s a better way to keep it?”

“I researched some plant preservation techniques online, but we’d have to save up for supplies,” Jinwoo said.

Of course they would.

Dongmin said, “What did you wish for?”

Jinwoo’s lips curved in a faint smile. “That’s a secret.”

Persocoms could make wishes and keep secrets?

But Jinwoo was a person. Dongmin had to remember that.

After supper, they washed up together, and then Jinwoo curled up beside Dongmin and played another racing game with some teenagers online while Dongmin studied, and when bedtime arrived, Dongmin went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash up and change and give Jinwoo privacy to change for bed as well.

Myungjun had included a bunch of cute but old pajamas for Jinwoo, but they all had Myungjun’s name on them. Dongmin wondered what it would take, to get Jinwoo’s name on them. That kind of thing was probably terribly expensive, though.

“Good night,” Dongmin said, plugging the power cord into Jinwoo’s ear port and tucking some blankets around him. “Sleep well.” He paused. “Do you sleep?”

“No,” Jinwoo said.

“...So you just lie here all night?”

“I watch a lot of dramas and music videos,” Jinwoo admitted. “And videos about cooking, so I can cook for you better. And videos of puppies.”

“Oh. If this is boring for you, you don’t have to —”

“I do have to recharge, and this is comfortable. It’s kind of like dreaming,” Jinwoo said. He smiled and reached up, brushed a strand of hair out of Dongmin’s eyes. “Don’t worry. Go sleep.”

Dongmin nodded, though he was still a bit unsure. He padded into the bedroom, put his phone on the charger, texted his family to check in, and then turned off the light.

And he closed his eyes.

* * *

Dongmin woke in the middle of the night, shivering, teeth chattering. He dragged the blankets up over him, but it was no use. He considered getting up and going to put on some socks and a sweater, but that would mean leaving the warmth of the bed.

He eased a hand out of the blankets and hissed at the cold, fumbled for his phone. The screen lit up, and he could see his own breath on the air. He checked the weather and saw that the temperature outside was below freezing. The air inside the apartment felt like it was freezing.

Had the power gone out? He squinted at his phone some more. It was still charging. 

The heater must have been broken. Should he try to call his landlord?

Dongmin forced himself to sit up, and he wrapped the blankets around himself tightly. Everyone in the building shared a single heating system. Heaters were usually in the basement, right? It should be somewhere in his apartment. Maybe he could fix it. He was pretty smart.

Dongmin, teeth still chattering, shuffled for the door, flipped on the light.

“Is everything all right?” Jinwoo sat up.

“I think the heater is broken. The heater’s probably in my apartment somewhere, right? Because we’re in the basement? We should try to fix it.” Dongmin rubbed his eyes and realized he wasn’t wearing his glasses  _ or _ his contacts, and he doubled back to the bedroom to grab his glasses off the nightstand, fumbled them on. 

Jinwoo cast aside the blankets. “The air in here is below freezing. You must be very uncomfortable.” He tugged free of his charge cable and went to the door, grabbed Dongmin’s jacket and scarf off the pegs. “Here, put these on. Do you have gloves? Go get some socks. Let’s look for the heater. It’s probably in your utility closet. I haven’t swept or mopped or done any extensive cleaning yet.”

“Thursday is my cleaning day,” Dongmin stammered. It was so cold. His teeth were chattering so hard. He couldn’t feel his fingers. How long had the heat been out? Surely someone else would have noticed and called the landlord, right? “Cleaning and laundry. Cleaning closet is over there.”

He yanked on the jacket and knotted on the scarf and tried to remember where he’d stored his hats. He went to find a pair of socks, could only find a mismatched pair, pulled them on with shaking hands.

Immediately his toes were struck with pins and needles. Where were his gloves?

Jinwoo had turned on the den light and opened the cleaning cupboard by the time Dongmin had bundled up. 

“I’ve accessed this model’s repair manual, but I can’t immediately tell what’s wrong with the unit. I have a couple of preliminary guesses, but without pulling the unit apart, I can’t determine more, and we don’t have the tools to pull it apart anyway.” Jinwoo stood up. “You should notify your landlord.”

Dongmin nodded. He shuffled back into the bedroom and called his landlord, but since it was two in the morning the call went to voicemail. He left as polite a message as he could muster, and then he went to turn off all the lights.

“I should try to go back to sleep,” he said. “You should keep on charging. Good night, Jinwoo.” 

He went back into the bedroom and rearranged the blankets on the bed, fetched the other extra blanket from the closet and spread it on the bed, and then crawled under the covers. He squirmed out of his extra clothes and set them on the nightstand so they’d be in easy reach. He kept the socks on, but it wasn’t enough, and soon he was shivering again.

A moment later, the covers shifted, and cold air flooded his lukewarm nest.

“What —?”

“Here, I’ll keep you warm.” Jinwoo’s voice was a deep rumble against Dongmin’s side, but then he was drawing the covers down over both of them and gathering Dongmin into his arms. He tucked himself under Dongmin’s chin and snuggled close.

“But you have to charge,” Dongmin protested.

“I can charge tomorrow while you’re in class, before I go on an adventure,” Jinwoo said. “I’m fine. You need to sleep. You’ll sleep better if you’re warm. Push me away if you get too warm.”

Jinwoo didn’t feel too warm. He felt nice. His hair was soft, and his clothes were soft, and he felt solid and warm. Dongmin had shared a bed with Myungjun, with Donghyun, didn’t mind sharing a bed, but this was different. Neither Myungjun nor Donghyun were clingy sleepers. 

The odd part was that Jinwoo wasn’t breathing. But he nuzzled close and made a little wordless sound that almost sounded happy.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he murmured. “I’ll keep you warm and safe.”

He really was warm, comforting.

Dongmin wasn’t sure what to do with himself, but Jinwoo just snuggled closer, tangled their legs, so Dongmin gave in and wrapped his arms around Jinwoo and enjoyed his warmth, and he closed his eyes.

But he couldn’t fall asleep.

“Do you need me to count sheep for you?” Jinwoo asked.

“Pardon?”

“Your heart is beating too fast. You can’t fall asleep if it’s beating that fast,” Jinwoo said. “I can count sheep for you.”

Pressed close like this, his deep voice was a pleasant rumble.

Dongmin couldn’t help but hum happily. “That would be nice, actually.”

“All right.  _ One sheep, two sheep…” _

Dongmin fell asleep before Jinwoo hit thirty.


	2. Chapter 2

In the morning, it was still brutally cold.

Jinwoo slithered out from under the covers when the alarm went off, shut if off. Then he bundled Dongmin in the blankets and half-carried him to the bathroom, turned on the shower.

“Let it heat up before you get in.”

“Won’t the water be cold if the heater is broken?”

“The water heater is separate from the regular heater,” Jinwoo said. “I’ll go get clean clothes for you.”

“Thank you,” Dongmin said, and Jinwoo nodded and closed the bathroom door.

Dongmin stood blinking and shivering a little in his nest of blankets until he saw steam coming from behind the shower curtain, and then he shucked out of the blankets and his clothes as fast as he could and dove under the water.

It was burning against his icy skin, and he adjusted it quickly. He was tempted to linger, but he heard the bathroom door open.

Thankfully, the shower curtain was opaque.

“Your clean clothes are on the counter. Don’t worry — I picked something stylish,” Jinwoo said, and the door closed again.

Dongmin finished scrubbing and washing his hair, then wrapped himself in his towel and winced as soon as his wet skin hit cold air. He dried off as fast as he could and pulled the clean clothes on, brushed his teeth and washed his face and put in his contacts, shaved. When he emerged from the bathroom, Jinwoo was waiting with Dongmin’s book bag and some triangle kimbap.

“I packed it with your supplies for today’s classes,” Jinwoo said. “I’ll charge while you’re gone. And I can deal with the landlord while you’re gone.”

“Thank you.” Dongmin shuffled for the door. He toed on his shoes.

“Stay warm.” Jinwoo handed Dongmin a sweater, then his blazer, which Dongmin shrugged on obediently. “Also, I found these gloves and this hat while I was picking out clothes for you. It’s supposed to be quite cold today.”

“Thank you,” Dongmin said fervently, and pulled on the gloves.

Jinwoo fetched Dongmin’s scarf off the peg and reached up, drew it around his neck, knotted it carefully. “You’re very sensitive to the cold compared to most other humans, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Dongmin admitted. “Thank you for last night, by the way. For keeping me warm. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I like taking care of you.” Jinwoo tucked the ends of the scarf into Dongmin’s blazer and buttoned it, then patted the lapels of the blazer fondly. He smiled up at Dongmin. “I already told you that. I like being your Jinwoo-hyung.”

Dongmin gazed into Jinwoo’s eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity. Then he said, “If you like, we can drop formalities.”

“Really?”

Dongmin nodded.

Jinwoo grinned. “All right. Have a good day, Dongminnie.”

Dongmin felt himself blush at the nickname, but he nodded and said, “You too, hyung.” And then he had to hurry to catch the bus.

Between Dongmin’s morning classes, he checked his phone and saw he’d received messages from Jinwoo with updates about how Jinwoo had cleaned the apartment — vacuumed the bedroom and den, swept and mopped the kitchen, scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom, and all the while doing the laundry for the both of them.

He also received a voicemail from his landlord, who sounded disgruntled but indicated he’d received multiple complaints from all the tenants in the building about the broken heater and said he’d go to Dongmin’s apartment sometime that day to check the heater.

Dongmin called back to let the landlord know that his persocom might be home but he could go right in either way. It occurred to Dongmin that maybe he should tell the landlord that he’d given Jinwoo his spare key instead of just leaving it under the mat like he had been since the spring, but the fact was that Jinwoo needed a key of his own to get around. Dongmin’s apartment didn’t have much, but it was his home and he wanted to keep it safe.

And then Dongmin’s civil procedure professor told them about the final exam, and everyone flew into a panic, and Dongmin spent his time between classes rearranging his study schedule, planning chapter outlines and study guides to make sure he passed. His torts professor told them about the essay exam for finals, where property would be a multiple choice exam, and Dongmin wondered if it was too late to switch to something less stressful, like literature. He enjoyed reading. Surely literature majors weren’t this stressed out, right?

Right before Dongmin’s last class, he received a text message from Jinwoo that the landlord had come by and fixed the heater and everything should be all right in the building now.

Dongmin sent back a message thanking Jinwoo for the information, and also that he hoped Jinwoo had a good day.

And then he received several text messages from classmates.

_ Want to form a study group? Finals are going to be brutal.  _ Ryu Eunho was supermodel handsome and top of their class, but his message was accompanied by a dozen nervous emojis.

Lee Mido chimed in.  _ I’m in. I’ll bring treats.  _ She was notoriously a terrible cook but someone in her family owned a bakery.

Go Soyeon flew into the group chat.  _ I’m watching my weight but I’m in. _

She was probably the most beautiful girl in their class.

_ If everyone brings their persocoms, we have a better chance of surviving, _ Mido offered.

_ Dongmin doesn’t have one, _ Eunho pointed out.

_ Because Dongmin doesn’t need one lol, _ Soyeon said.  _ Face genius and law genius. _

_ I have one now, _ Dongmin sent back.  _ I work Friday through Sunday but I am willing to form a study group. Where should we meet? _

_ All of us plus our persocoms is a pretty big group, _ Mido said.  _ We could meet at my uncle’s bakery, though. _

_ Send the address, _ Eunho said,  _ and how about tonight? Seven? _

Everyone sent affirmations.

Dongmin called Jinwoo. He input his PIN and password, and then Jinwoo said, “Hey Dongminnie, what’s up?”

“So, finals are coming up for my law classes, and some of my law classmates want to form a study group, and they want to meet tonight at a bakery that one of their uncles owns. At seven. We’re all supposed to bring our persocoms to help. Do you mind coming with me?”

“Not at all,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin was headed across campus to his last class for the day. He’d have to check his bank balance. He ought to buy at least a small pastry if they were going to be at the bakery and using the wifi there.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Have you had a good day?”

“I’ve had a great day.”

“You’ve done fun things besides cleaning?”

“I’ve done fun things besides cleaning.”

“Don’t forget to dress warm. I’ll text you the name of the bakery. See you in a few hours.”

“Do you want to come home and eat dinner before you meet your classmates?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin considered. “How long will it take us to get from home to the bakery by bus?”

“Not too long. It’s only a half hour bus ride,” Jinwoo said. “It’s about halfway between campus and home.”

The bus ride home took an hour. Dongmin usually read on the bus home if it wasn’t too dark.

“Okay,” Dongmin said. “I’ll see you at home for dinner.”

“See you, Dongminnie.”

Dongmin’s heart fluttered at the way his name sounded when Jinwoo said it with his deep voice, but that was silly. He shook his head to clear it and shoved his phone in his pocket, and then he hurried to find his seat. Finals were coming. He had to be prepared.

* * *

Of course Jinwoo met him at the bus stop, and in the apartment, while Dongmin toed off his shoes Jinwoo helped Dongmin off with his blazer and hat and scarf and gloves.

“I can undress myself,” Dongmin said, amused.

“I’m here to help my dongsaeng,” Jinwoo said virtuously, hanging the blazer and scarf and hat on pegs just inside the door.

“Are you going to take off my sweater too?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo settled his hands on Dongmin’s hips. “Do you want me to?”

Dongmin’s pulse spiked, and suddenly he remembered being curled around Jinwoo in bed, how Jinwoo had been firm and warm, and how he’d smelled of cotton and lavender laundry detergent and something else; Dongmin had expected him to smell of metal or plastic, but he’d just smelled sort of warm and comforting, like a  _ person. _

“No, that’s fine.” Dongmin stepped away from Jinwoo and his warm touch. “The heater has definitely been fixed. I’m glad.”

“Dinner is almost ready, so relax while I finish up, and then you’ll have to eat quickly before we go meet your classmates,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin nodded. “All right. Thank you.” He sprawled out on the bed and closed his eyes, heaved a big sigh of relief. “Was my landlord very cranky with you?”

The man was middle-aged and had a rather salty disposition, was a bit impatient, but he wasn’t unfair or dishonest.

“He was surprised to see me,” Jinwoo said.

“I told him you’d be here.”

“I think he thought I’d be an older unit, perhaps. But he and his workmen didn’t make a mess, and the repair was quite fast.” Jinwoo clattered around in the kitchen.

Already the sounds were familiar, pleasant.

Dongmin closed his eyes and dozed.

“Dongminnie, food’s ready.” 

A gentle hand carded through his hair.

Dongmin’s eyes fluttered open. Jinwoo sat beside him on the bed, smiling gently down at him.

“You must be tired from studying all day.” Jinwoo’s voice was soft, low. “Dinner will give you energy to study with your classmates. Come on.”

Dongmin nodded and tried to sit up, but he was only half-conscious. Jinwoo slid his hands under Dongmin and eased him into a sitting position with surprising strength, his hands gentle.

“You’re very tired. I’ll brew some hot cocoa to wake you up.” Jinwoo tugged Dongmin to his feet and towed him into the main room.

Dongmin plopped down in front of the table. “Smells good. I’ll eat well.” He covered a yawn with one hand, then scooped up the chopsticks and dug in. The food was tasty, and he told Jinwoo so.

“Tell me about your day,” he said while Jinwoo served him marinated chicken and kimchi and rice.

“Eat quickly. We have to wash up and meet your classmates,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin glanced at his watch. “Ooh, right.” And he ate faster.

“But not too fast. You don’t want to get indigestion.” Jinwoo headed into the kitchen to make some hot cocoa.

The heat and sweetness did help wake Dongmin up some, and he thanked Jinwoo. He ate quickly, and then while Jinwoo started the washing up, Dongmin re-packed his bookbag with the appropriate study materials for study group, and then he went and helped Jinwoo.

Once all the dishes from dinner were washed and put away, Dongmin and Jinwoo bundled up and they headed for the bus stop.

“Tell me about your classmates,” Jinwoo said while he and Dongmin huddled on the bus stop bench, shivering a little.

“They’re all brilliant, easily the top three in the class. I’m lucky they agreed to be in a study group with me,” Dongmin said. “Eunho is very handsome, and Soyeon is very pretty, but I think Mido is probably the smartest of us all, no matter what Eunho or Soyeon might think.”

On the bus, Jinwoo asked what they did in study groups. Dongmin admitted he’d never been in a university study group before, and not a law-focused one either, so they’d find out together.

“I can’t imagine it’ll be too different from the ones in high school,” Dongmin said. “But I guess we’ll find out. In high school I never had a persocom to work with for a study group, so we’ll see.”

Jinwoo nodded. “I’ll help as much as I can.”

Mido’s uncle’s cafe was just down the street from the bus stop, had a brightly-lit sign and boasted traditional French pastries. The window display was of tiny tarts that looked like pieces of art more than anything edible, a rainbow of macarons, and fancy breads. When Dongmin pushed open the door, he saw a long counter that ran the length of the establishment, and half a dozen little tables where customers could sit and eat treats, and also several more displays of cakes and tarts and breads.

Mido, a handsome male persocom, and Eunho and a cute little female persocom were already present.

A rotund man in a bright red apron called out a greeting to Dongmin. Dongmin bowed and greeted him back.

Mido spotted Dongmin and waved. “Over here!”

Dongmin waved back and crossed the store. “Hello. Ah, Mido-ssi, this is Jinwoo-hyung. Jinwoo, this is Mido-ssi, my classmate.”

Jinwoo bowed politely and greeted her.

Mido giggled. “That’s so cute! This is Jiook.”

Jiook inclined his head politely.

Eunho raised his eyebrows. “You call yours hyung?”

“Whatever,” Mido said. “You call Woomi  _ noona.” _

Woomi smiled sweetly and offered a little wave. 

“This is Eunho-ssi,” Dongmin said.

“Woomi’s like his mother,” Mido said. “I don’t know how he’d function without her.”

“Your persocom must be new,” Eunho said, sliding over to make room for Dongmin and Jinwoo.

“Ah, yes. I only just acquired him last weekend,” Dongmin said.

“Acquired?” Mido echoed.

Law students were so precise.

“I won him in a raffle,” Dongmin said. “I was very fortunate.”

“He’s a brand new Jinjin Pro, isn’t he?” Eunho said.

“Yes, which is why I’m so fortunate.” Dongmin reached into his wallet and fished out several coins, handed them to Jinwoo. “Would you please go buy a couple of macarons? One for now, one for later, when I need a bit more energy.”

“Which flavors do you prefer?” Jinwoo asked.

“Which flavors do they have, do you know?” Dongmin asked Mido.

Jinwoo tilted his head. “I have accessed the wifi and the bakery’s online menu.”

Dongmin considered. “Are raspberry and pistachio options? I thought I saw red and green in the window.”

“They are.” Jinwoo counted the coins carefully, then said, “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t worry about buying too many pastries,” Mido said. “My uncle will give us the day-old ones super cheap.”

“That’s very kind of him,” Dongmin said.

Eunho narrowed his eyes. “You said his name is Jinwoo?”

Dongmin nodded.

_ “Daebak. _ He’s the one from the video, the persocom that puppies like.” Eunho pointed at Jinwoo with his pen.

Mido’s eyes went wide. “Really?” She nudged Jiook. “Is it true?”

Jiook’s gaze was already blank, but his expression went even blanker, and then he said, “According to the video, the persocom’s name was Jinwoo.”

“He likes puppies, and he told me he went to the mall that day,” Dongmin said. “I haven’t personally seen him with puppies, but he went to Olympic Park one day and did pet some other dogs.”

He showed them the pictures on his phone.

“What are the chances?” Eunho asked Woomi. “That animals might like persocoms.”

“Prior to that video, there are no recorded instances of animals being affectionate with persocoms,” she said. Her general demeanor was bright and cheery, compared to Jiook, but then Mido was very no-nonsense.

Eunho laughed. “Is your persocom broken? Is that why you never bring him to class?”

“I only have him accompany me to the one lecture where I need a recording and transcription of the recording because taking notes by hand is a struggle,” Dongmin said, “but otherwise I’ve been getting along in my classes without a persocom, so if I don’t need him, he’s free to do what he pleases.”

Mido stared at him. “He’s free to do what he pleases…?”

“Well, he’s a sentient being, so, having him follow me around all day when I don’t need him to seems silly,” Dongmin said.

Eunho stared at him, but before further discussion on the matter could ensue, Soyeon arrived, with a tall, handsome male persocom in tow. Like Soyeon, who was always fashionable, he was dressed well. Dongmin wondered how much she spent on his wardrobe. There was probably some economic sense in having a persocom the same gender as oneself, and about the same build, so sharing a wardrobe would be easy.

“Hello, everyone! Sorry we’re late. Traffic was brutal, and then I had a hard time finding a place to park,” she said. 

“We’re glad you made it safely,” Dongmin said. “Jinwoo, this is Soyeon-ssi, another one of my classmates.”

_ “Omo, _ a brand new Jinjin Pro? Dongmin, flex! Young and rich, huh? I didn’t know you had it in you.” Soyeon sat down beside Dongmin and tossed her hair. “Sungmo, go get me a latte.”

He nodded and bowed and strode over to stand in line behind Jinwoo, who bowed to the man who Dongmin guessed was Mido’s uncle and then returned to the table with a little waxed paper bag with two pretty, bright, colorful macarons inside.

“All right, what’s the plan of attack?” Mido asked, turning on her tablet.

“We should all do the reading but divide up the burden of the outlines,” Soyeon said. “That way we’re guaranteed to get all the work done. Also we should make some vocab flashcards. I’ve heard from some sunbaes that some of the professors give extra credit if we make sure to use specific terms and their definitions in our short essay answers.”

“How should we divide it up?” Eunho asked.

Mido said, “Jiook, take notes.”

He said, “Yes, noonim.”

Dongmin nibbled on the raspberry macaron and smiled at Jinwoo, who was perched awkwardly on the other side of Soyeon.

Sungmo returned with a latte, which he handed to latte. She accepted it and took a sip.

“Ah, Soyeon-ssi, can we switch places?” Dongmin said. “So I can sit next to Jinwoo-hyung. That way you can sit next to Sungmo, too.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“He wants to sit next to his persocom. That’s so cute.” Eunho laughed.

Dongmin looked at Jinwoo. “Unless you don’t want to sit next to me?”

“I don’t mind sitting next to my Dongminnie,” Jinwoo said. “I can help you better if I’m sitting next to you anyway.”

“Oh. Sure.” 

Soyeon picked up her latte, and there was some shuffling, but then Jinwoo was sitting between Dongmin and Woomi, and Soyeon was sitting on the other side of Dongmin, leaving Sungmo sitting on the outside of the booth, free to run errands.

Jinwoo managed Dongmin’s book bag, handing him pens and notebooks as necessary.

They divided up the outlines and also agreed that each of them would make and share vocabulary flashcards from each subject — torts, real property, civil procedure, criminal procedure — and then broke out the outlines they’d done up to that point.

“We should create a shared drive,” Eunho said. “So we can upload and easily access and share files.”

“I have all my outlines currently saved on the cloud,” Mido said.

“Me too,” Eunho said.

“Me also,” Soyeon said.

“Ah, all my outlines are handwritten,” Dongmin said. Jinwoo held up one of Dongmin’s notebooks to demonstrate.

“You have such pretty handwriting,” Mido murmured.

Soyeon plucked the notebook out of Jinwoo’s hands. Jinwoo looked startled. Soyeon shoved the notebook at Sungmo and said, “Start scanning.”

Sungmo flipped open the notebook and looked like he was reading it, but he must have been scanning it.

“I didn’t even realize that was an option,” Dongmin admitted. “The persocom my parents have at home is a much older model.”

Eunho held out a hand. “Here, Woomi can do some scans as well.”

“And Jiook,” Mido said.

Dongmin surrendered his notebooks obediently. “Now that I’ve acquired a persocom, I take notes on a tablet, and those are automatically transcribed and made into searchable PDFs, so any outlines I create going forward won’t have to be scanned, but I remember things better if I write them down, so I’ll still hand write my outlines.”

“That’s fine. You do have very neat handwriting.” Mido waved a dismissive hand.

“Who’s going to set up the cloud space?” Soyeon asked.

“I can do it,” Eunho said. “Woomi, create a folder on Google Drive for our study group, then email a link to the others so they can access it and upload study materials.”

“Yes, Eunho-ya.” She nodded and beamed.

Dongmin noticed that the others rarely made eye-contact with the persocoms. Compared to Sungmin in his history class, who treated Sooah like his girlfriend, and Jihyo who treated Jungboon sort of like a beloved pet, none of his law classmates really paid much attention to their persocoms. They were more like Yoonbyul was with Yeonggu.

Dongmin glanced at Jinwoo. “Are you all right? You’re not too bored?”

Jinwoo glanced up from the notebook he was scanning and smiled. “I’m fine. I don’t mind helping you.”

Dongmin had helped Donghyun study plenty of times while he was living at home, but after a while he’d found the task tiresome and tedious. How did Jinwoo never run out of patience and enthusiasm?

Because he wasn’t human.

People saw persocoms as inhuman, subhuman.

But the truth was, they were superhuman.

The humans didn’t want to admit it, not to themselves, and certainly not to the persocoms. Did the persocoms know? What would happen if they ever figured it out?

Mido’s uncle came over with some delicious-looking baked treats. Dongmin managed not to wince as he chipped in some money. The puffed pastry from a pain au chocolat practically melted on his tongue.

“Is it good?” Jinwoo asked, during a snack break.

“It’s amazing,” Dongmin said. To Mido he added, “Your uncle is a very skilled baker.”

Mido winked. “Leave a good review.”

Dongmin moaned happily and took another bite. “I definitely will.”

Jinwoo tilted his head. “What would you like to say?”

“The pastry is divine. Perfectly flaky puffed pastry that melts on your tongue. Smooth chocolate that’s just the right blend of sweet and bitter.” Dongmin licked his lips. “It’s probably better than what you can get in France.”

“My uncle trained in France,” Mido said.

Soyeon had had Sungmo analyze the menu and choose the lowest-carb option off the platter, whereas Eunho was on his third pastry and posing for pictures while Woomi snapped away with his phone.

“Are you a model?” Jinwoo asked.

Eunho spun around, startled. “Pardon?”

“You’re handsome like a model,” Jinwoo said.

“Ah, no, I’m not a model,” Eunho said, blinking. “But thank you. I’m not the only one handsome enough to be a model. Your owner is considered a face genius.”

Dongmin ducked his head. “Eunho-ssi flatters me.”

Eunho looked Jinwoo up and down. “I...don’t think a persocom had ever just  _ talked _ to me before. Like a — like a person.”

“Maybe it’s why dogs like him,” Soyeon said, eyeing Jinwoo. “Because he’s more like a person than a regular persocom.”

“You said you  _ won _ him?” Mido asked. “Where?”

“At the Fantagio Computers store near campus. A part-timer was handing out flyers for sweepstakes, so I entered. I figured the worst that could happen was that I would lose.” Dongmin shrugged.

“They were just giving a brand new Jinjin Pro away?” Eunho narrowed his eyes. “What was the catch?”

Dongmin shrugged. “I just had to sign up for a promotional mailing list.”

“I unsubscribed you already,” Jinwoo said.

“Thank you.” Dongmin patted his shoulder, which earned him a smile.

The study session wrapped up neatly, and they made arrangements to meet again at the same time and same place next week. While it would eat into Dongmin’s study time and budget, the help from the others would counterbalance the time taken from his study time, at least till after finals.

On the way to the bus stop, Dongmin nibbled on his pistachio macaron.

“Is it weird, watching me eat but being unable to eat yourself?” he asked.

Jinwoo shrugged. “I can’t eat and don’t get hungry, so it doesn’t bother me.” 

They walked in companionable silence.

Jinwoo said, “Was it strange, for me to talk to Eunho-ssi?”

“People talk to each other,” Dongmin said.

“But he didn’t think of me as a person.”

Dongmin bit his lip.  _ “I _ think of you as a person.”

“But you’re the only one, aren’t you? Mido-ssi and the others — they don’t think of their persocoms as people.”

“Some people think of their persocoms as people,” Dongmin said.

“Do they?” Jinwoo asked. “Or do people like Sungmin-ssi and Jihyo-ssi just wish their persocoms were people?”

“I don’t know,” Dongmin admitted.

On the bus ride home, they said nothing to each other.

In the apartment, Dongmin washed up while Jinwoo changed for bed and made up his little bean bag nest.

Dongmin stood in the doorway of the bathroom and watched Jinwoo arrange the bean bags and blankets, and he said,

“You want to sleep with me?”

Jinwoo looked up. “Pardon?”

“The bed is big enough for the both of us. You don’t have to sleep out here if you don’t want to. There’s an outlet between the bed and the nightstand. You could sleep in the bed and charge if you wanted. I mean, I know you don’t actually sleep, but. It’d be more comfortable, right? We’re roommates, and roommates can share a bed if there’s only one bed. Unless you want to stay on the bean bags till I save up for a second bed?” Dongmin despaired of ever having enough money for a data plan and a second bed and all the other things Jinwoo might need, but a data plan was more important to Jinwoo’s safety than a bed.

Jinwoo grinned and scooped up his blankets. “No, I’d rather sleep with you.” And he practically skipped into the bedroom.

Dongmin forced himself to take a deep breath to try to calm his racing heart. This wouldn’t be like last night. The heater was fixed. They wouldn’t be sleeping  _ with  _ each other; they’d just be sharing a bed, as Dongmin had done with his brother and cousin plenty of times before. Jinwoo was a person and deserved to sleep on a real bed and not on the bean bag chairs like a dog or cat.

Jinwoo had already plugged himself into the outlet by the time Dongmin had locked the front door and turned off all the lights.

Dongmin crawled into the other side of the bed, and Jinwoo turned off the light.

“Good night. Sleep well,” Jinwoo said.

“Good night,” Dongmin said. “Rest well and recharge well.”

Jinwoo laughed softly. “Thank you.”

Dongmin closed his eyes. He could sense Jinwoo beside him, but it wasn’t the same as listening to Donghyun or Myungjun breathe as he tried to fall asleep.

“Do you want me to count sheep for you?” Jinwoo asked.

“If it’s not a bother.” Dongmin bit his lip.

“You keep forgetting that I wouldn’t offer if it were a bother.”

“I don’t want you to do something just because you’re programmed. I want you to do something because you want to,” Dongmin said.

“Your programming isn’t much different from mine,” Jinwoo said. His slow, deep voice really was soothing. “You’ve been programmed over a much longer time, by your parents and teachers and friends and acquaintances and strangers and the things you’ve read and seen and heard and experienced. I’ve been programmed by scientists. But in the end it’s the same, isn’t it? Input and output. You had more choice about your input than I did, but since I’ve been with you I’ve had a lot more choice about my input than you realize. And you said you’d respect my choices. So. Let me count sheep for you.”

“All right. Thank you, Jinwoo. And I’m sorry. I’ll do better about respecting your choices,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo curled his fingers through Dongmin’s, startling him with the touch and warmth. “Apology accepted. Ready?”

“Ready.”

_ “One sheep. Two sheep. Three sheep.” _

Dongmin lay awake, reveling in Jinwoo’s voice and the touch of his hand. Somewhere around two hundred, he fell asleep.

When he woke the next morning, to Jinwoo shaking his shoulder gently, telling him it was time to wake up, they were still holding hands.

* * *

“Good morning Jungboon-ssi, Jihyo-ssi,” Dongmin said, sliding into his usual seat.

Jinwoo sat beside him. He greeted Dongmin’s classmates and their persocoms as well.

Jihyo blinked at Dongmin. “Did you just greet Jungboon before you greeted me?”

Dongmin tilted his head at her. “I saw her first,” he said. “I’m sorry, did it offend you?”

“I — no,” Jihyo said finally. “It’s just — I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before.”

Jinwoo said, “Your hair is very pretty today, Jihyo-ssi.”

Jihyo said, “Thank you, Jinwoo-ssi.” And then she blinked at him, looking confused.

Ever since study group last night, and the conversation with Jinwoo, Dongmin had thought about it, how people treated persocoms as second-class citizens at best, as inhuman tools at worst, disposable and easily ignored. So he was making a point of treating Jinwoo as a person. He let Jinwoo on the bus before him on the way to campus, and he let Jinwoo pay the bus driver for fares, and he let Jinwoo through doors before him, holding doors for him and pulling chairs out for him.

And Dongmin watched his classmates. None of their persocoms initiated conversation with them. Sooah constantly doted on Sungmin, beaming at him, but was otherwise still and silent till he wanted her attention or affection. Jungboon smiled at Jihyo and was friendly with her, but Dongmin could recognize the hallmarks of a pre-programmed Friendly Mode when he saw it. Taeil treated Doyeon as a pet, cuddling her and crooning to her the way people did with a puppy (the way Jinwoo had with Danbi at the pet store)

And then Yoonbyul swept through the doors, Yeonggu on her heels. 

“What’s this?” Taeil asked, amused.

Because Yeonggu was well-dressed and he looked cleaner, somehow. His hair was combed neatly. He still wasn’t smiling much, but then Yoonbyul wasn’t particularly expressive, so that didn’t really mean much.

“Did you decide you were lonely and it was worth dressing up your Yeonggu, giving yourself some scenery?” Taeil asked.

“He does seem to have a better fashion sense,” Jihyo said.

Only Yeonggu said, “Hello, my name is Haesung.”

Taeil hooted. “You finally gave him a real name?”

Jihyo smiled at Yoonbyul. “That’s very sweet of you. Haesung is such a nice name.”

Jinwoo said, “Nice to meet you, Haesung-ssi.”

Yoonbyul said, a little stiffly, “I considered Dongmin-ssi’s arguments after our last class, and they were logical and reasonable. So. His name is Haesung. Humans are just meat-bags full of saline, and one day we’re all going to break down and cease functioning, and really we’re just accidents of science anyway, so what does it all matter?”

Dongmin blinked. “Ah, Yoonbyul-ssi, I didn’t mean for you to —”

“I think you broke her,” Sungmin said quietly.

“We’re all made from stardust, and to stardust we’ll all return. Either we’re all worthless, or we’re all worth something, and since I refuse to think of myself as worthless, his name is Haesung, and that’s the end of it,” Yoonbyul said.

“Well, if you put it that way, the worth we assign to ourselves as humans and to other creatures is entirely arbitrary,” Taeil said, “and if we’re all accidents, any moral code we assign to ourselves is artificial, and —”

“Stop it,” Dongmin said. He could see the lines of misery tugging at the corners of Yoonbyul’s mouth even though her expression seemed otherwise as impassive as ever.

“You started it,” Taeil said.

Dongmin knew that the logical extremes of certain arguments were pretty horrifying, and he didn’t think they were the best ones to live by, which was why he’d staked his position where he had, but he didn’t regret appealing to Yoonbyul’s scientific logic, especially if it led to her treating her persocom better.

“She’s had to rethink her worldview, and she’s adjusting,” Dongmin said. “It’s a difficult and mature thing to do. Until you’ve done something similar, you don’t get to tease her.”

“Says the one who hasn’t done his military service,” Taeil drawled.

“You haven’t done yours either,” Sungmin pointed out, and ducked against Sooah when Taeil glared at him.

They all fell silent when Professor Do swept into the room, Jaehyun trailing behind him.

“Jaehyun, please turn on the projector,” he said.

Dongmin flipped open his tablet. “Jinwoo-hyung, please record the lecture?”

“Yes, Dongminnie.”

Yoonbyul spoke politely to Haesung. “Please record the lecture.”

Taeil stared at her.  _ “Heol. _ Dongmin-ssi, you’ve made everyone crazy.” 

Doyeon tugged on his ear. “Are you going to be nice to me too?”

Taeil stared at his little persocom in disbelief. 

Jinwoo smiled at Sooah and waved, and she smiled and waved back. Sungmin glared at Jinwoo, then slung his arm around Sooah’s shoulders and reached for his bluetooth keyboard to take notes.

“Record for the lecture for me?” he asked in a coaxing voice.

“Yes, oppa,” Sooah said, smiling sweetly.

Jihyo said, “Jungboonie, please record the lecture.”

“Of course,” Jungboon said, and faced straight ahead, like she was paying rapt attention to the lecture.

Professor Do launched into the lecture, and Dongmin let his hand fly across the tablet screen. He had to keep up. But whenever he glanced at Jinwoo, Jinwoo smiled at him, and he felt warm inside.

Waking up beside Jinwoo had been both warmly comforting and thrilling. While Dongmin had been gathering up his clean clothes to go wash up and change in the bathroom, Jinwoo had been rifling through his side of the closet, picking out his own clothes for the day. It had been strangely domestic.

On the way to the bus stop, Jinwoo had handed Dongmin a couple of pieces of triangle kimbap and a thermos of hot cocoa, telling him to eat well and stay warm, and while they’d stood at the bus stop Jinwoo had fussed with Dongmin’s scarf, arranging it and rearranging it and making sure the ends were tucked properly into his blazer.

“Pay attention,” Jinwoo whispered, nudging Dongmin, though he was smiling in amusement.

“Sorry,” Dongmin whispered back, and he looked down at the tablet. His handwriting had devolved into an indecipherable scrawl. No wonder Jinwoo had been able to tell Dongmin wasn’t concentrating. Was it so bad, that Dongmin was happy now that he was treating Jinwoo like a person, that Jinwoo was acting like a person, was free to  _ be _ a real person?

Yoonbyul was having a difficult adjustment, but she’d done the right thing with Haesung, and the world would be a better place overall once humans recognized persocoms for who they were: real people.

Movies got it wrong all the time. Whenever there was an oppressed underclass, they always sought to rise up in rebellion — and rule. And sometimes audiences were pleased with the result, after all the mistreatment the underclass had suffered. But sometimes the underclass became just as tyrannical as the masters they’d once served, and then they got their just desserts, and the story ended on a bitter note where nothing was really resolved. It was a false dichotomy. There didn’t need to be an underclass and overlords. There was a third option: equality for all.

Would humans see that, though? When persocoms were built to be eternally young and beautiful and hyperintelligent, and also far stronger and more durable than humans? And with the potential to be far more skilled than humans? After all, even though all humans were supposed to be of equal worth, humans subdivided themselves into classes based on strength and intelligence and looks and speed and other innate talents and skills honed over time with training and practice.

Dongmin forced himself to concentrate and take notes even though he’d have the transcript of the lecture later to fill in any gaps. He couldn’t afford to space out during lectures like this in future.

When the lecture finished, Dongmin stood up and stretched, then packed his tablet away.

“You heading out?” he asked Jinwoo.

Jinwoo nodded. “Unless you need me for any of your other classes?”

“I’m good. I’ll see you after to head to the restaurant? Unless you’d rather stay at home and play video games or something, or just keep on with your adventures,” Dongmin said.

“I’m not sure how my schedule will shake out. I’ll let you know,” Jinwoo said. “I’ll message you.”

Dongmin’s chest tightened at the thought of being without Jinwoo any more than necessary, but he nodded. “Okay. Just let me know. Have a good day!”

Jinwoo deserved to have time to himself and be independent and on his own schedule. Yes, he liked being Dongmin’s hyung, but that didn’t mean being glued to his side.

“You know he’s  _ your _ persocom, not your roommate, right?” Taeil said. 

“He’s  _ a _ persocom,” Dongmin said.

“Jinwoo-ssi is a sentient being,” Yoonbyul said, “as is Dongmin-ssi. How they choose to interact is none of your business. You’re entitled to your opinion, but you’re not entitled to impose it on others.”

She headed up the stairs with the air of someone who was climbing a very tall mountain. Haesung trailed behind her. He bowed to Dongmin and Taeil, then hurried out the door after her.

“See you,” Jinwoo said to Dongmin. “I’ll be going first.” He waved to Dongmin, bowed to Taeil, and set off.

“You really have made everyone — and everything — crazy,” Taeil said.

Doyeon poked her head out of his bookbag and said, “I’m not crazy.”

Taeil shot Dongmin a look, then stomped out of the lecture hall.

Dongmin had to hurry to get to his next class on time.

Throughout the day, Jinwoo sent him periodic instant messages, though none of them had pictures, with minor updates, that he was doing well and having fun. All of the updates were vague, with no information about where he was or what he was doing. Dongmin knew he could check Jinwoo’s location with an app on his phone, because as Jinwoo’s legal owner he could track his persocom’s location, but he wasn’t going to do that, and he refused to, so he just messaged Jinwoo back that he was glad Jinwoo was doing well and having fun. He dodged Jinwoo’s inquiries about his lunch — he refilled the thermos with more hot cocoa and studied through his lunch break — and worked till it was time to go to the restaurant.

_ Will I see you at Madam Jeon’s? _ Dongmin tapped out as he headed for the restaurant.

_ I’ll meet you there, _ was Jinwoo’s response.

_ All right. See you soon. _

All day, Dongmin had missed Jinwoo, which was silly, because Jinwoo wasn’t with him most of the day on the regular, and he’d gone most of his life without Jinwoo around anyway, so missing him was irrational. But also he’d slept beside Jinwoo for two nights in a row, so maybe his subconscious was...used to Jinwoo now?

Dongmin had heard that about married couples; when they first got married, sleeping beside someone new was strange, but after a while, sleeping alone was strange.

The bus arrived, and Dongmin climbed on, paid for his ticket.

He shook his head to clear it. He and Jinwoo weren’t married. They were barely friends.

Were they friends?

They were hyung and dongsaeng, for whatever that was worth as between a persocom and the human who technically owned him.

Dongmin rested his head against the cool glass of the window to try to slow his racing thoughts.

But Dongmin had lived alone for a while now, and suddenly he had a new person in his life, a person he was relying on a lot, and it made sense that he missed that person when that person wasn’t around.

That was what he told himself, over and over again, as the bus headed for the restaurant.

But when Dongmin climbed off the bus and Jinwoo was waiting for him, he knew it was something more than that. Maybe Yoonbyul wasn’t the only one facing difficulties with the shift in mindset, that persocoms were real people. Jinwoo’s bright smile made Dongmin’s heart flutter. Maybe he should let it, because at least Jinwoo made him  _ feel,  _ feel real emotions the way any other human did.

“How were lectures today?” Jinwoo asked, falling into step beside Dongmin.

“They were,” Dongmin said. “How were your adventures today?”

“They were good.” Jinwoo smiled. There was an edge to his smile that was almost mischievous, but Dongmin didn’t press for details.

They headed into the side door and for the break room.

“You again,” Changkyun said, from his perch on the desk.

Laptops, Dongmin thought, tended to have more attitude than persocoms. So much attitude packed into much smaller bodies, perhaps? But then people thought the same thing about humans, didn’t they?

Napoleon Complex, they called it. Never mind that the man himself had actually been two and a half centimeters taller than the average height of men in his era.

“I’m just here to keep Dongminnie company while he works, same as you do for Minseok-ah,” Jinwoo said, sitting on the stool in the corner.

Dongmin changed into his uniform, made sure he had his notebook in his pocket and his pencil tucked behind his ear. 

Jinwoo smoothed down his apron and checked the knot, then reached up and smoothed down Dongmin’s hair.

“There. You look professional,” he said.

Dongmin smiled at him, felt himself blush a little. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Hyung who?” Minseok asked, bustling into the break room. He was in his uniform but not in his apron.

“Jinwoo-hyung,” Dongmin said absently.

“Hello, Minseok-ah,” Jinwoo said. “How’s your soccer team?”

“We won again last night,” Minseok said. “Stay away from Changkyunnie.”

“I’m capable of accessing the wifi without his assistance now, so that shouldn’t be a problem,” Jinwoo said. “And congratulations on your victory from last night.”

“Thanks,” Minseok said warily. He wasn’t wary of the fact that Jinwoo had spoken to him like a normal person, though. Just about what had happened when he’d connected to Changkyun last weekend.

Minseok had always been very affectionate of Changkyun, but come to think of it, he sort of treated Changkyun like a disobedient little brother, not like a pet.

Madam Jeon called Minseok and Dongmin to the kitchen so she could tell them about the nightly special, made them recite it back to her to prove they had it memorized. They talked through adjustments to the dish customers could ask for — less or more meat or sauce or rice or vegetables, how the price could change — and side dishes they could recommend to go with that main dish, and then it was time to hit the floor and work.

Dongmin kept a wary eye out for that one customer who kept trying to essentially buy his face for a persocom, but neither the man nor his niece appeared, so he relaxed and kept a smile on his face and worked.

When he ducked into the back room, Jinwoo and Changkyun had dug Dongmin’s tablet out of his backpack and turned it on and were using it to play some kind of cute animated racing game. It was a bit uncanny, watching them stare at the screen and sway with their cars but not use any keyboards and mice or joysticks or console controllers, sort of like telekinetics from sci-fi movies, but they looked like they were having fun and getting along, so Dongmin didn’t scold them or tell them to stop.

The shift ended well, and a few western customers left Dongmin and Minseok nice tips. Jinwoo helped them clean up so Dongmin could get home faster. At first Minseok had eyed Jinwoo warily.

“I clean and do the dishes at home,” Jinwoo said. “I do know what I’m doing.”

“You make him do all the dishes?” Minseok looked at Dongmin, betrayed.

“I don’t mind it,” Jinwoo said, stacking several plates and balancing them on his wrist like a professional waiter. “Dongmin can study while I clean. It saves time so he doesn’t have to stay up so late to study. And he helps me often enough anyways. I’ve been trying to convince him to let me do it all, but I think he feels guilty at making me do the majority of the chores even though I’ve told him repeatedly not to feel guilty. Don’t undo my work.”

Minseok ducked his head, chastened. “Sorry, hyung.”

Jinwoo ruffled his hair fondly. “It’s fine. You didn’t know. When you end up in college and have to take care of yourself a lot more than you did before, you’ll appreciate anything to take some of the burden off.”

“Maybe my hyung can help me the way yours helps you,” Minseok said to Dongmin.

Dongmin wasn’t sure Madame Jeon would just let Minseok take off to university with the family persocom, even though the restaurant was successful and the family lived comfortably, but he just smiled and nodded.

Once the dining room was cleaned up and the restaurant was closed down for the night, Dongmin surrendered his apron to Granny, and he and Jinwoo headed for the bus stop.

“It really doesn’t bother you to do all those menial chores?” Dongmin asked. “It’s not, I don’t know, demeaning?”

He and Jinwoo sat side-by-side on a bench beside one of the windows.

Jinwoo raised his eyebrows. “Would you say that where your mother can hear? Is the work she does at home to support your family demeaning?”

“No! I would never say that to her. And she doesn’t just work at home. Our family can’t afford that. Doing chores isn’t demeaning. I just — you’re right. I’m sorry.” Dongmin sighed. 

Jinwoo patted his knee. “It’s fine. So stop feeling guilty and let me help you, all right?”

“All right.”

“How much more studying do you have to do this weekend?”

“Honestly not that much, thanks to you and your help.” Dongmin smiled at Jinwoo. “I really appreciate it.”

“Want to call your cousin Myungjun and see about hanging out tomorrow a bit before work?”

Dongmin smiled. “Sure. That’d be nice for me. And for you, too. You deserve friends besides me. You can get to know Bin and see if you’d like to be friends with him.”

“Being friends with other persocoms is difficult,” Jinwoo said.

“Because their owners don’t give them the freedom to have friendships?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo nodded. “That’s part of it. But also most persocoms aren’t like me, I don’t think. Changkyun and Doyeon weren’t wrong when they said I was weird. I don’t know what’s different about me, but I  _ am _ different.”

Dongmin thought of young Sanha, who’d casually mentioned the factory flaw that made Jinwoo unsaleable. Was it actually not a flaw at all, but an evolution? That Jinwoo was too human for most other humans to put up with in a creature they thought they were allowed to own?

And yet humans had made a practice of owning other humans for millennia.

“I like you how you are. Just Jinwoo.” Dongmin smiled at him, and Jinwoo smiled back.

Once they made it home, they hung up their jackets and scarves, and they got ready for bed. Dongmin showered, brushed his teeth, and changed into his pajamas, and then he headed into the bedroom, where Jinwoo was already wearing his pajamas and was plugging himself in for the night.

“You want me to plug in your phone?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin handed it over. “Yes, please.” He toweled off his hair as best as he could, then tossed the used towel into the laundry basket. “So, not to be too personal, but do you ever need to wash? I know you don’t sweat like humans do, but you go out and about.”

“I clean myself as necessary. I suppose the human equivalent is a sponge-bath,” Jinwoo said. “Usually I do it once you’re out of the house, since the sight of me without clothing seems to startle you.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Dongmin felt himself blushing. He crawled under the covers and pulled them up to his chin. “Makes sense. Do you need to wash your hair? Your hair is so soft. It feels just like human hair.  _ Is _ it human hair?”

“No, it’s synthetic. If my sensors indicate it needs washing, I do wash it. I can use regular shampoo and conditioner, same as a human.” Jinwoo switched off the bedside lamp and settled under the covers. He sounded amused.

“It’s not like human hair has never been used as a wig or on dolls or anything,” Dongmin said. “Actually, it was quite common for wealthy girls in the Victorian Era to have dolls made with human hair, maybe even their own hair. Their dolls would basically be miniature versions of them, and they’d have matching outfits.”

“You know strange trivia,” Jinwoo said. “I mean, with my access to the wifi I could have looked that up. But you just  _ know _ strange trivia. Also, you share weird trivia when you’re nervous. It’s cute.”

“I’m not nervous,” Dongmin said. He almost denied that he was cute, but he kind of liked that Jinwoo thought he was cute. Most people thought he was attractive because of his face. Jinwoo liking him for his weird trivia habits was refreshing.

“Should we reach out to Myungjun and Bin and ask about hanging out tomorrow?”

“Yes, we should. Thank you for reminding me. Chances are they’re both still awake, studying if not playing video games.” Dongmin knew Myungjun made some money as a competitive gamer, and also sometimes with his gaming stream, demoing new games, partially because he was an entertaining and animated person, and also because he kept Bin customized and fashionable and fans tuned in just to see Bin.

“What’s this, the studious and disciplined Lee Dongmin calling me so late on a Friday night?” was Myungjun’s greeting. “Are you drunk? Is this going to be like a scene from a drama? Are you going to confess some kind of deeply emotional secret?”

“Hello to you too, hyung, Bin.”

“Hello,” Bin said, his voice crystal clear, because of course he was also on the call.

“No, I finished my shift at the restaurant and I’m at home now,” Dongmin said. “Since I now have Jinwoo in my life, my studying has become much more efficient, and I have some spare time to hang out tomorrow before my shift at the restaurant, if you’re interested. I mean, what I really should do is probably pick up a second job on the weekends, but —”

“Yes! Let’s definitely hang out,” Myungjun said.

They arranged a time, bandied about ideas for things to do, and then Myungjun was distracted by an in-game battle, and Dongmin had yawned a few times too many, so they ended the call.

“I’m glad I’m able to help you this much,” Jinwoo said.

“Thank you for being so much help.” Dongmin reached out and fumbled in the darkness till he found Jinwoo’s hand, squeezed briefly.

He went to pull away, but Jinwoo tangled their fingers together, and after that it was easy to fall asleep, connected to Jinwoo’s warmth and safe presence.

* * *

The next morning, Dongmin worked out while Jinwoo did some basic tidying up around the apartment, and Dongmin studied while Jinwoo did some deeper cleaning. He also went to do the shopping so he wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow, could focus on the cooking while Dongmin studied. Once the shopping was done, Dongmin finished up his studies, set his books and tablet aside. He made sure he had a clean uniform and apron in his bookbag along with his wallet, phone (and phone charge cord) and keys, and Jinwoo made sure he had his keys, a small wallet, and charge cord in his backpack, and they bundled up and set out.

Bin answered the door at Myungjun’s apartment.

“Welcome,” Bin said, “to Myungjun’s Pleasure Palace.”

Dongmin, who’d been about to toe off his shoes, paused. “I’m sorry, pardon?”

Bin rolled his eyes. “He meant it as a double entendre.”

Myungjun and Bin had built an epic blanket fort, with a collection of scarves and beach sarongs forming a colorful roof. The floor was spread with duvets, cushions, pillows, and myriad warm and cuddly blankets. Everything was oriented toward Myungjun’s large OLED monitor and several smaller monitors, plus his speaker system set for surround sound. He also had several food trays set in strategic spots on the floor laden with drinks and snacks.

“Today we can do what we want,” Myungjun said from where he was lounging on a pillow, eating a handful of grapes. “We can eat what we want, play what we want, and watch what we want.”

“You know I’m bad at video games,” Dongmin said.

Myungjun waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. So is Binnie.”

Dongmin blinked at Bin, who was showing Jinwoo where to hang his backpack and jacket. “How can a persocom be bad at video games?”

“I don’t know. How can a persocom be beloved of puppies?” Myungjun asked.

“Jinwoo likes video games,” Dongmin said.

“I know,” Myungjun said. “I was pretty excited to play Kart Rider with my beloved cousin DingDongMin, and imagine my surprise when he was good at the game, and then when I spoke to him, his voice was not your familiar breathy tone but your persocom’s deep, sexy voice.”

“You’ve been playing video games with Jinwoo?”

Myungjun raised his eyebrows. “He didn’t tell you?”

“I’m not his mother. He’s not required to tell me everything,” Dongmin said. 

“He’s really good at video games,” Myungjun said. “Could go pro, but, you know, persocom. Not really an option. I’ve never sold him out to the other kids we play with, of course. But I know you don’t really like video games, so, what would you like to do today on your rare day off?”

“Probably not so rare going forward, now that Jinwoo is helping me in my life.” Dongmin smiled at Jinwoo, who was apparently learning from Bin how to cut apples into rabbit shapes. “But if you want to start with video games, I don’t mind. You and Jinwoo can battle it out for first place, and Bin and I can fight to not be in last place.”

Myungjun finished off his grapes and sat up. “Sounds good to me. Binnie! Let’s play some Kart Rider. Where’s the spare controller?”

Neither Bin nor Jinwoo needed controllers, but Dongmin and Myungjun needed them. Bin didn’t sway like Jinwoo did when he controlled his cart, instead waggled his eyebrows very expressively when he was trying to get his cart to turn or jump or hit a box to get a boost. The four of them played against four strangers online. Where Jinwoo usually played with Dongmin’s account, they set up an account using Jinwoo’s email for Dongmin to play so Dongmin wouldn’t mess up his stats, and the races began.

“Wow,” Dongmin said. “I thought I was bad at video games, but Bin, you’re pretty bad.”

“I wasn’t made to be good at games myself, I was made so Myungjun could be good at games,” Bin said, trying to grimace his cart around a corner and instead getting it stuck against the corner.

Myungjun and Jinwoo shot past them on the track. Dongmin lost speed on the turn but didn’t get stuck, so he considered that a victory.

As predicted, Dongmin and Bin fought to avoid last place while Jinwoo and Myungjun fought for first.

“Are we going to decide on prizes or punishments for the winners and losers?” Myungjun asked.

Dongmin considered. “Like what? I don’t have money to buy you food or anything, and we don’t live together, so I can’t do chores for you.” He glanced at Myungjun and added, “I am  _ not _ letting you tinker with Jinwoo. Do you want to be tinkered with, Jinwoo?”

“I’d prefer not,” Jinwoo said absently, and fired a rocket at Myungjun’s cart.

“Winner is hyung for the day and everyone else is dongsaeng and winner can speak informally,” Bin suggested.

“Myungjun’s older than all of us already,” Dongmin said.

“Well, Jinwoo is your hyung and Myungjun is also your hyung but is Myungjun actually Jinwoo’s hyung?” Bin asked.

Myungjun and Jinwoo looked at each other.

“Okay,” Myungjun said. “Best out of three. Winner can speak informally for the day. Winner is overall hyung from here on out.”

“All right,” Jinwoo said. “You’re on.”

“Should we even try anymore?” Dongmin asked Bin.

“Between you and me, who’s hyung?” Bin asked.

“We could just be same-age friends,” Dongmin said. “For how bad we are.”

They both looked at their placement tallies, and Bin said, “True.”

The next race began in earnest. Dongmin cheered for Jinwoo even as he struggled to keep his cart on the track.

“Yah! Why are you cheering for him and not for me? I’m your beloved cousin,” Myungjun protested. He was in the lead, though.

“Because he takes care of me,” Dongmin said. “Next race I’ll cheer for you, okay?”

Only Bin cheered for Jinwoo too.

_ “You?” _ Myungjun cried. “How could you?”

“Persocom solidarity,” Bin said with a shrug, and then,  _ “Jinwoo fighting!” _

“Just for that, I’m going to win this race,” Myungjun said, and he did.

Next race, as promised, Dongmin cheered for Myungjun, but Bin still cheered for Jinwoo, and Jinwoo won by a wide margin because he’d managed to get some good items and deploy them effectively against Myungjun.

The third race was close, Jinwoo and Myungjun switching first and second place right up until the end. It was so close that for a moment Dongmin thought Jinwoo had won, but then the automated announcer showed Myungjun’s little avatar on the screen, and Myungjun cheered.

Jinwoo sighed, defeated. “I tried my best. I really did, Bin-ssi.”

“It’s okay, Jinjin-hyung,” Bin said. “You did well.”

“Jinwoo-ya,” Myungjun said, with relish, “bring me a green tea from the fridge.”

Jinwoo nodded and said, “Yes, hyung,” and he pushed himself up and ducked out of the blanket fort and headed for the fridge.

“You’re going to enjoy this, aren’t you?” Dongmin said.

Myungjun grinned. “Every second.” He accepted the bottle of tea from Jinwoo and thanked him, took a sip. “What next? More games? Oooh, want to play with the noraebang machine?”

Dongmin wasn’t a great singer, but he could carry a tune. “Sure,” he said. He turned to Jinwoo. “Can you sing? Is that a feature you have?”

“It’s one I can be programmed with, but I don’t currently have that feature downloaded,” Jinwoo said. “Do you want to buy it?”

“Ah, no, just do your best,” Dongmin said.

“Binnie sings very well,” Myungjun said. “I taught him myself.”

Bin was setting up the noraebang machine, hooking it up to the television, hunting for microphones.

Dongmin turned to look at Myungjun. “You taught him? You didn’t just...download a feature?”

“While AI’s can sing, it’s one thing they’ve never managed to get up to par with humans,” Myungjun said, “but Bin can sing really well. Trust me. You’ll see. Let’s go! I managed to get an emulator for a popular machine, so we have access to a lot of songs. Which ones do you want to cue up?”

Dongmin asked for Lee Hyori’s Just One Ten Minutes.

“Your crush on her is totally understandable,” Myungjun said.

“It’s not a crush,” Dongmin protested. “My mom listened to Fin.K.L., okay?”

Jinwoo eyed him. “I thought you liked FTIsland.”

“I do, but I’m not really capable of singing most of their songs,” Dongmin said. “But now that you mention it, Myungjun can. You should sing Wind for me.”

“That is a good song. I’ll add it to the list. I was going to sing Thorn by Buzz, though. What do you want, Binnie?” 

Bin considered. “Papercuts, but EXO-CBX.”

Myungjun nodded. “All right. You want to make us cry even if it’s in Japanese and we can’t understand it. Jinwoo?”

“Jasmine by DPR Live.”

“With English? Flex.” Myungjun programmed it in. “Group numbers? Any proposals?”

“Fantastic Baby by Big Bang,” Bin said.

“Bang Bang Bang by Big Bang,” Jinwoo said.

Myungjun nodded and programmed them in. “We can add more later. Let’s get started!”

He had a couple of tambourines for the others to use if they so chose.

Dongmin knew the rules of the noraebang, as he’d gone plenty of times with Myungjun and witnessed his evolution into a formidable singer. Start with a mid-tempo song to get everyone else in the mood, because being the only person going crazy and having fun was just weird. Once everyone had joined in and gotten up to dance, if they needed to slow things down with a ballad, they could.

So Myungjun sang a mid-tempo trot number to get the party started, since he liked trot and was good at it.

Bin was, no surprise, a decent dancer, could keep a beat.

Jinwoo surprised Dongmin by being utterly shameless, shaking his hips and waving the tambourine over his head. He cheered for Myungjun.

Of course, Myungjun got a 100, and then he handed the mic over to Dongmin for his turn. He sang well but not great, which he didn’t mind. Myungjun razzed him a little, but Jinwoo complimented him, and then Dongmin turned the mic over to Bin to lead them on Fantastic Baby, which they all knew and could all get energetic for.

Dongmin jumped up and danced along beside Jinwoo, grinned at him. They shared a mic, and Bin and Myungjun shared a mic. Unsurprisingly, Bin and Jinwoo got all the lyrics right even when Dongmin and Myungjun stumbled, but they all had a good time.

The next song was Bang Bang Bang to keep the momentum going.

Myungjun, to Dongmin’s vast surprise, knew the entire dance. Bin could dance portions along with him, and he didn’t look half bad. Jinwoo jumped up and down to the beat, and Dongmin did the same, shouting the chorus together.

When the song ended, they’d managed a score in the high nineties. With four people singing together, getting a perfect score was hard.

Myungjun collapsed to the cushions and took a long pull from a bottle of water.

“Wow. That was a lot, but now I’m tired. Who’s next?”

“Me,” Bin said. He turned off the echo effect on the microphone, which Dongmin was used to but wasn’t always a fan of, and the next song cued up.

Dongmin wasn’t really up to date on the newest trends in K-pop, and judging by the name of this group and the fact that they were singing in Japanese, they were probably some kind of sub-unit.

The song was, to Dongmin’s surprise, a ballad.

Jinwoo picked up a pillow and waved it back and forth over his head to the beat obediently, expression solemn.

Bin watched the screen. Where he was a persocom, he could basically speak any language he chose. It was fascinating to see him switch languages all the same.

Bin’s voice was a light, high tenor, not as high and sweet as Myungjun’s, but Dongmin remembered the first time he’d heard Bin speak, he’d been surprised at the sound of his voice, expecting a persocom built to be so big and strong to have a deep voice.

Dongmin didn’t understand Japanese at all, but he knew this song was sad. Because Bin sounded sad. Dongmin swayed along absently, but he  _ listened. _

Myungjun was swaying along as well, watching his beloved Bin sing, cheering when he hit a high note or did an impressive vocal trick or sustained a note well.

“There you go, that’s my Binnie!”

“What is he saying?” Dongmin whispered to Jinwoo.

Jinwoo translated softly.

_ Don’t wanna be out of time, even when we are apart _

_ The papercuts in my hand, you’re not alone _

Dongmin knew some poems and imagery didn’t translate well, and poetry wasn’t always supposed to be literal. He felt something tighten behind his breastbone. He didn’t want to be out of time with the people he loved. 

The expression on Bin’s face was longing, like he was about to have his heart broken and he knew it, but he was glad to have had the experience. Dongmin had heard the phrase  _ better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. _ He understood the sentiment, vaguely, but where he’d never fallen in love himself, he didn’t think he appreciated the notion fully.

Bin, he thought, understood the concept completely.

But how? He was a persocom.

But Jinwoo was a persocom, and he had feelings too.

Who, Dongmin wondered, was Bin in love with? And who had he lost? Another persocom? The only human he’d ever known was Myungjun.

Dongmin looked at Myungjun. He didn’t seem sad, was mostly delighted that Bin was singing so well.

When the song ended, Myungjun rattled his tambourine and cheered, and Bin offered a sweeping theatrical bow. When he straightened up, he was grinning, and all traces of his sad longing were gone, as if they’d never been there, but Dongmin was convinced the emotion had been real.

How?

And why would Bin hide how he felt?

Except humans hid how they felt all the time, and as far as Bin was concerned, Dongmin was just Myungjun’s cousin; Dongmin had no right to Bin’s thoughts and feelings and secrets.

Then it was Jinwoo’s turn. He stood up, rolled his shoulders, and accepted the mic from Bin.

“I’m not a very good singer,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” Dongmin said. “We’re here to have fun.”

“But I  _ am _ a good rapper,” Jinwoo said.

Myungjun raised his eyebrows. “Since when does my sweet, pure, innocent cousin listen to rap?”

Dongmin shrugged. “I don’t. If Jinwoo-hyung likes it, he learned to like it all by himself.”

Myungjun cast Jinwoo a look. “All right. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Bin started the song, and Jinwoo bobbed to the music.

Jinwoo curled his hand around the top of the mic just like Dongmin had seen rappers do on television, and then he began to rap.

And he  _ was _ good. 

“Wow!” Myungjun cheered and rattled his tambourine. “Jinjin swag!”

Jinwoo had rhythm and confidence, and his ability to make his way through the syllables without tripping up was amazing. He wasn’t kidding, though. He wasn’t a great singer, and Myungjun laughed, which made Jinwoo duck his head and look bashful, but he continued on for the next rap verse.

Would all persocoms be good at rapping, because it required speed and precision?

But Bin said to Myungjun, almost as an aside that perhaps Dongmin wasn’t supposed to hear, “He has really good flow.”

When Jinwoo finished, he took a bow, and Dongmin and the others clapped and cheered.

Jinwoo plopped down on the cushions beside Dongmin. “I did well, right?”

“You did amazing,” Dongmin said honestly, and Jinwoo smiled at him.

And then it was Myungjun’s turn to sing. He rose up with a flourish, cleared his throat dramatically, and accepted the mic from Jinwoo.

“All right. Prepare to be wowed,” Myungjun said. “Binnie, music please!”

Bin pressed the button on the noraebang machine obligingly.

Dongmin had heard these electric guitar strains many times before, and he set to swaying gently. 

Myungjun’s voice was sweet and clear, honed from practice and self-training from YouTube videos about vocal technique. 

“Dance with me,” Bin said to Dongmin, pulling him to his feet.

Dongmin blinked. “What?”

But Bin pulled Dongmin into a respectable ballroom dance frame and moved to the music with him. The song was mid-tempo, and they danced a little square over and over again. 

Of course persocoms could dance and sing. AIs had been making music and art for about a decade now, although the general consensus was that their art was just an imitation, lacked the  _ soul _ of real human performances, which was silly, because according to some people, humans didn’t have souls either. 

And Dongmin had seen something genuine in Bin’s performance when he sang, and something natural and charming in Jinwoo’s too. 

Dancing with Bin was a bit odd, because Dongmin had never danced with another man before, only with girls to learn in PE class, and then with girls who were markedly shorter than him. He and Bin were of a height, could see eye to eye. Bin was solid and strong, warm, muscular. 

“Don’t worry,” Bin said. “You can have the next dance.”

“Pardon?” Dongmin said, confused. 

Only Bin turned them, and Dongmin saw Jinwoo watching them with an expression Dongmin couldn’t read. 

Myungjun was having the time of his life, going all out, hamming it up to his audience of one. Jinwoo roused himself to sway along to the song, smiling weakly. 

When it was done, Dongmin pulled back from Bin, his heart thumping oddly. Dongmin had always known he liked boys at least as much as girls, but this was the first time he’d reacted to Bin like this, and he’d been around Bin many times, seen him in many incarnations, some much more scandalous and sexy than soft pink hair and worn jeans and a soft cardigan. 

Myungjun bowed, and Dongmin cheered. 

“And now, some FTIsland, for my cousin,” Myungjun said. 

Jinwoo was on his feet. He curled his hand around Dongmin’s wrist. “Dance with me?”

Dongmin said, “All right.” 

He gathered Jinwoo into his arms. 

“But shouldn’t I hold your hand?” Jinwoo asked. “Like Bin did.”

“For a slower song, we can dance closer,” Dongmin said quietly. “If you like.”

Jinwoo considered for a moment, then nodded and rested his head on Dongmin’s shoulder, wrapped his arms around Dongmin’s neck. Dongmin slid his arms around Jinwoo’s waist. He was warm and firm and felt so real, so  _ human. _

“Binnie, music please.”

Familiar piano notes filled their colorful blanket fort. 

Myungjun’s voice started soft and low.

_ Still, why don’t you know _

_ Still, I miss you _

“Would you miss me if I was gone?” Jinwoo asked. 

“I text you and you text me back so I don’t miss you,” Dongmin said. 

“Did you know I missed you, in the beginning? When you didn’t text me.” Jinwoo pulled back and looked up at Dongmin. 

“No. But you didn’t say.” Dongmin’s heart pounded.

“Then should I say what I feel?” There was something fragile in Jinwoo’s gaze, and Dongmin was afraid that if he said the wrong thing it would shatter and be lost forever. 

“Only if you want me to know.”

Myungjun’s voice soared on the chorus, sweeping and powerful, filling the space around them. He didn’t even need the microphone. 

_ I will go _

_ I will find  _

_ Even if my body is broken down by a cold wind  _

_ Always  _

Jinwoo said, “I want to know if you feel the same way.”

Dongmin swallowed hard. But then Bin grabbed the second mic and joined in, carrying the harmonies and the final chorus so Myungjun could do the ad-libs, and the song ended and Myungjun was cheering for himself with abandon. 

He did a twirl and sweeping bow. 

“Well, how was it? Was I amazing?”

Dongmin pulled back from Jinwoo and applauded and cheered, heart racing. “You were so amazing, hyung.”

Myungjun tossed his head and preened. “I know. I’m a star. Binnie, I need water.”

Bin handed him a water bottle. Myungjun wrenched off the cap and drank deeply. Dongmin looked back at Jinwoo, who was smiling at Bin and complimenting his singing skills. The moment between them was broken, and Dongmin didn’t know how to get it back, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

“More singing, or no?” Myungjun asked. 

“I think I’m done,” Dongmin said, flopping down on the cushions. 

“Me too,” Bin said, mirroring his pose. 

Myungjun looked at Jinwoo, who sat down beside Dongmin. 

“All right, moving on to drama viewing! Let’s watch some Sarah Connor Chronicles. Cue it up, Binnie.” Myungjun curled up beside Bin, resting on his shoulder. 

Of course Bin could control the monitor and video streaming via a Bluetooth connection, so he just slung an arm around Myungjun as if he’d done it a thousand times, and a show began to play, a woman narrating in English. 

“An American drama?” Dongmin asked, reading the subtitles. And then Dongmin saw the title of the show, and he sat up straighter. “Hang on,  _ Terminator? _ How did you get access to anything from the Terminator series? That is  _ so _ illegal.”

Myungjun waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. No one will ever hack my darling precious Binnie.” To emphasize his point, he snuggled closer to Bin. “And it’s not like Binnie or Jinwoo will get  _ ideas. _ It’s just fiction. See? The terminators have regular ears. And listen to them move — they have those heavy metal skeletons. Such terrible designs.”

“Having a gun in your thigh does seem handy, though,” Bin quipped.

Myungjun affected a deep voice and said, “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“Pardon?” Dongmin asked. A moment later, he understood, and he threw a pillow at Myungjun. “Hyung!”

Myungjun managed to bat it aside, giggling.

“You learned terrible things while you were in the Marines,” Dongmin scolded.

Jinwoo watched, wide-eyed, when the evil terminator opened fire on a classroom of high school students, on the hunt for John Connor. He curled close to Dongmin and said, “I’d never do that. Even if I were reprogrammed, I’d never hurt you. Because they couldn’t erase  _ me.” _

Dongmin turned to him, startled. “What? Oh, Jinwoo, I know. No one’s going to try reprogramming you. This is just a show. It’s fiction.”

“It’s illegal for a reason,” Jinwoo said. “So people don’t try to weaponize persocoms.”

Dongmin wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Myungjun-hyung is a bit of a rebel, but really, this show is harmless. It’s not illegal in America, and they’ve never had problems with people making actual terminators. Look, you can just enjoy the story for what it is. About humans surviving, and also about the deeper question.”

“Deeper question?” Jinwoo asked.

“Are the terminators and humans really all that different?”

Jinwoo sat up straighter and considered. He was surprised — as was Dongmin — that the pretty girl who’d flirted with John Connor ended up being a terminator as well, as small and slender as she was, but of course she was superhuman. And socially awkward, compared to how she’d been when she first introduced herself to John, which was terrible writing, but oh well.

“Our social programming is superior,” Bin said. “I’m way more charming. Right, hyung?”

“Right,” Myungjun said, and nuzzled Bin’s ear, making him giggle, a sudden, sweet, high-pitched sound that was genuine and almost  _ human. _

Because while the show was ostensibly about scrappy humans trying to survive an apocalypse of their own making, when their own creations rose up and surpassed them and destroyed them, and the humans mastered time travel to try to save themselves, the show really  _ was _ about the blurry line between the robots and the humans, about what constituted sentience and life and humanity. The robots were intelligent and adaptable. They were stronger and faster than the humans. No wonder they were winning the war in the future. But if they were so cold and unfeeling, like the girl robot Cameron, did they  _ deserve _ to win the war?

_ Science now performs miracles like the gods of old, _ Sarah Connnor said in the final voice-over narration that book-ended every episode.  _ Creating life from blood cells or bacteria or a spark of metal, but they’re perfect creatures, and in that way, they couldn’t be less human. _

Dongmin looked over at Jinwoo. Was that his unsaleable factory flaw?

_ There are things machines will never do, _ Sarah Connor continued.  _ They cannot possess faith, they cannot commune with God. They cannot appreciate beauty. They cannot create art. If they ever learn these things, they won’t have to destroy us; they’ll be us. _

“Do you think a persocom could learn to do ballet like that?” Dongmin asked.

“Maybe,” Myungjun said. “After all, Binnie learned how to sing, and he learned really well.”

Bin nodded and preened. He’d learned that gesture and expression from Myungjun. It probably hadn’t even been programmed into him; he’d probably just learned it from being around Myungjun so much.

“The actress was a ballet dancer, though, so they took advantage of her skill, wove it into the plot,” Myungjun said. 

Dongmin said, “I’m sure a persocom could master classical choreography. But what about creating original choreography, like she did there in that final scene? Like...Bin can sing songs at the noraebang, but could he write a song?”

“AIs can write songs,” Myungjun said, “but the general consensus is that they...lack the soul of human compositions.”

“What if you believe humans don’t have souls?” Dongmin asked.

Myungjun twisted around to look at him, stared for a long moment. “I don’t know.” Then he turned back to Jinwoo. “You appreciate beauty though, don’t you? You appreciate me, and I’m beautiful.”

“You’re pretty.  _ I’m _ beautiful,” Bin said. 

Myungjun’s eyes went wide. “Yah!” He shoved at Bin, who let out one of those adorable peals of laughter again.

Jinwoo said to Dongmin, “I think you’re beautiful.”

Dongmin turned to him, startled. “What? Oh, no. I mean, I have been told that I take after my mother, but I’m not that handsome. There are plenty of better-looking people than me.”

His heart was pounding again. Yes, the only moral thing to do was treat Jinwoo like he was a human, because by all accounts he was sentient and intelligent, but...could a persocom ever really cross that line? Really break down the barrier between machine and person?

And yet weren’t humans machine too, just carbon-based instead of silicon-based?

Dongmin felt compelled to add, “You’re very handsome, though.”

His phone buzzed, interrupting him before he had to try to fumble his way further through this awkward line of conversation. “Ah, Myungjun-hyung, I have to head to work now. Thanks for a really good time today.”

Myungjun yawned and stretched, then patted Dongmin on the shin. “Thanks for hanging out. I really am glad you could, and that your adorable little Jinwoo is able to make it possible. Keep working hard to take care of him, Jinwoo. And you, Dongmin. Take good care of your Jinwoo.”

“I will.” Dongmin pushed himself to his feet. “Come on, Jinwoo. Unless you’d like to stay and hang out? You could meet me at the restaurant later, or just come on home whenever.”

Jinwoo rose up with that uncanny grace. “No, I’ll come with you. Thanks for letting me stay and hang out Myungjun-hyung, Bin-ah.”

“You can call me Binnie too,” he said, and Jinwoo smiled. “Let’s be close from now on, okay? I’ll see you online for Kart Rider sometimes.”

Jinwoo nodded and smiled again, and he followed Dongmin to the door.

At the bus stop, Dongmin said, “I’m glad you and Bin are closer now.”

Jinwoo said quietly, “I really do think you’re beautiful.” He gazed up at Dongmin solemnly.

Dongmin said, “Thank you. I really do think you’re handsome.”

But was thinking Jinwoo handsome insincere? Where there were other Jinjin Pro models out there who looked just like him?

They probably didn’t smile like him, though.

* * *

When Dongmin pushed open the side door to the restaurant, he was met with a blast of loud music. Hip-hop? R&B? Something in English.

“Usher,” Jinwoo said, because he’d already connected to the restaurant wifi and could use it to identify the song. “Moving Mountains.”

“I didn’t think Madam Jeon was the type,” Dongmin said, heading for the break room. Granny certainly wasn’t. She loved her pansori, and occasionally really old trot.

Minseok’s book bag was in the break room, but otherwise it was unoccupied. Dongmin changed into his uniform quickly, then followed the sound of the music out to the dining floor.

Where all the tables had been pushed aside to make room for a persocom Dongmin had never seen before, one that looked like a teenage boy.

One that was dancing.

Minseok stood on the sidelines, Changkyun perched on his shoulder. Bluetooth speakers were positioned all around the room blasting music.

The persocom moved flawlessly, with the kind of strength and swagger Dongmin usually saw in the K-pop videos Jihyo watched on her tablet before class sometimes, but also a certain grace that Dongmin couldn’t quite place. It reminded him of Cameron the Terminator from the show he’d watched earlier that day.

The song faded, and the persocom struck a pose.

Minseok cheered.

“Yeah, hyung! That looked so good!”

Perhaps this was Madam Jeon’s family persocom. Minseok prodded Changkyun, who scowled. He had a lot of personality, just like Bin.

“Did you get a good recording?”

“I recorded it just how you instructed,” Changkyun said.

Then Minseok noticed Dongmin. His eyes went wide. “You’re here early!”

Dongmin checked his watch. “Am I? Ah, I am a little early. I came from my cousin’s apartment, and the bus ride must have been shorter than I anticipated. I didn’t want to be late.” He inclined his head politely at the persocom. “Hello. I’m Lee Dongmin.”

The persocom said, “You’re not supposed to be here.” He was a few centimeters shorter than Dongmin but definitely taller than Jinwoo, with bright dark eyes and high cheekbones, a cute nose and soft full lips. Very handsome. Something about him was oddly familiar. Maybe one of Dongmin’s classmates had the same model?

“Hyung, you’d better go now,” Minseok said to the persocom.

“He’s not supposed to be here,” the persocom said again, shifting to stand in front of Minseok, his stance defensive.

“It’s just Dongmin-hyung, who helps wait tables on the weekends, and his hyung Jinwoo.” Minseok bit his lip and looked nervous. “You should probably go now.”

Dongmin wondered if the persocom was a bit of an older model, was malfunctioning.

Dongmin inclined his head again. “You dance really well. You must have studied that choreography a lot.”

The persocom tossed his head. “I choreographed that myself.”

Dongmin paused. “Oh?”

Minseok tugged on the persocom’s sleeve.  _ “Hyung!” _ he hissed.

The persocom wore jeans and a t-shirt, like an ordinary teenage boy. But for his ears, he could have been a regular teenage boy. In fact, standing there beside Minseok, they almost looked like brothers. There was something similar in their features.

And suddenly Dongmin remembered that strange encounter with the man who’d asked to buy his likeness for a persocom.

_ “But I heard their son died and they replaced him with a persocom. People do weird things like that. Their sons wait tables here, remember?” _

Dongmin smiled and said, “Have you choreographed other dances before, or is this your first?”

The persocom eyed him warily. Finally he said, “I’ve been choreographing for myself since I was ten.” He added, “I’m Park Minhyuk.”

Minseok bit his lip, cast Dongmin a worried look.

But Dongmin just said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Park Minhyuk. Have you been dancing since you were ten?”

“I started dancing when I was four,” he said. “I’ve studied ballet, tap, jazz, modern, and hip-hop.”

“Ah, that’s what I saw,” Dongmin said. “Something in the way you moved reminded me of a ballet dancer. Jinwoo and I were watching dramas with my cousin Myungjun and his persocom Bin, and there was a ballet dancer. You’re very talented.”

Minseok’s eyes went wide.

Minhyuk looked grudgingly respectful. “Thank you. Ah — we were in the middle of filming a project. We’ll put the tables back before opening.”

“Oh, of course. We don’t mean to be in your way. We’ll just be in the break room. Fighting!” Dongmin waved, and then he and Jinwoo ducked back to the break room.

Back in the break room, Jinwoo said, “He talked like he was a human. Unless he just meant that he’s been around for that many years? He looks like a very new model.”

Dongmin said, “You said yourself that persocoms are people. He talked like he was a person.”

Jinwoo considered. “If he can choreograph his own dances, he can create art. He  _ is _ human, then, right? According to Sarah Connor.” He kept his voice low.

“That’s just one perspective,” Dongmin said gently.

“What if I wanted to create art?” Jinwoo asked.

“I’d help you,” Dongmin said. “But I’m not very good at art. I could try to save up for supplies —”

Jinwoo shook his head. “Don’t burden yourself.”

“I want to help you too,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo’s gaze turned inward, distant. Dongmin was both relieved and disappointed that the expression on his face was distracted. Hopefully there’d be no talk of feelings any time soon. Dongmin didn’t think he could handle talk of feelings again.

Ten minutes later, Minseok led Minhyuk into the break room. Changkyun was still perched on his shoulder.

“We put the tables back,” Minseok said. “I’m going to take Minhyuk-hyung to his hiding place now.”

“Does he have to hide?” Dongmin asked. “He could stay here and hang out with Jinwoo, couldn’t he?”

Minhyuk’s expression was a bit blank, unreadable. Dongmin wondered how much it cost to buy a custom persocom built to mimic a living human being. Or was he really Park Minhyuk? Was there some way to digitize a human’s memories and download them into a persocom? Were some features lacking, due to budget constraints? Or had the real — human — Before — Park Minhyuk been equally impassive?

“I was going to edit my dance video,” Minhyuk said finally.

“Jinwoo could probably help you,” Dongmin said.

Minseok said, “No. I remember what happened to Changkyun —”

“They wouldn’t have to connect,” Dongmin said. “If Minhyuk uploaded the file to a cloud server, Jinwoo could access it and they could work without connecting.”

Minseok bit his lip. “A cloud server isn’t very secure, though.”

“My cousin could probably make a secure space,” Dongmin said. “He’s really good with computers.”

Minseok looked up at his brother.

Dongmin said, “I promise I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Jinwoo said, “If there’s room in the hiding place, I could keep Minhyuk-ssi company there, if you like.” He looked at Minhyuk.

“The hiding place is quite small,” Minseok admitted.

Granny said, “Dongmin-ah, I have a clean apron for you — omo! Minseokie! What have you done?” She came up short, one hand pressed to her chest, eyes wide.

Jinwoo lunged and caught the apron out of mid-air before it hit the floor.

“They came early and saw me dancing,” Minhyuk said flatly. “They know.”

Dongmin smiled. “I was just suggesting that Jinwoo-hyung could keep Minhyuk-ssi company while Minseok and I are working. I’m guessing Changkyun isn’t much company in comparison?”

Changkyun said, “It’s not my fault I’m small.”

Jinwoo said to Minhyuk, “Could you teach me how to dance?”

Granny blinked. “Oh. Well, I don’t know what your mother will think.”

Madam Jeon burst into the break room. “Minseokie! Minhyukie’s gone!” Her eyes were wide with panic. When she saw Minhyuk standing in the break room with everyone else, all the color drained out of her face.

Dongmin bowed. “Good evening, Chef.”

She straightened up, swallowed hard. Her hands were curled into white-knuckled fists at her side.

“What will it take to keep you quiet?” she asked in a low, brittle voice. “You want a raise? A bonus? A recommendation for a job at a nicer restaurant?”

“Ah, I was just suggesting to Minseok and Granny that maybe Jinwoo-hyung and Minhyuk-ssi can keep each other company while Minseok and I work,” Dongmin said gently. “Minhyuk-ssi mentioned editing his dance video. Perhaps Jinwoo can help him with it? And Jinwoo said maybe Minhyuk could teach him how to dance.”

Madam Jeon blinked, and Dongmin realized she looked ready to cry. “Oh?”

Jinwoo said, “I don’t really know how to dance, and Minhyuk-ssi says he’s been dancing since he was four.”

Minhyuk said, “Mama? Minseok never wants to learn how to dance.”

Madam Jeon stared at Dongmin for a long moment. Then she said to Minhyuk, “Keep your music down and don’t disturb the guests.”

He nodded. “Yes, Mama.” And then he grinned, and his grin was bright and dimpled and sweet, and he looked young, about Donghyun’s age. “We’ll be good.”

Madam Jeon said to Minseok, “Get your uniform on and come to the kitchen to memorize the daily specials.”

Minseok nodded, and he was grinning so hard Dongmin was worried he might crack a tooth.

Madam Jeon nodded tightly at Dongmin, then swept out of the break room.

Granny patted Dongmin on the shoulder, then followed.

Dongmin waited for Minseok, and then they headed to the kitchen together.

Minseok said, “Thanks for being cool.”

Dongmin said, “Your hyung’s a really good dancer.”

* * *

Whenever Dongmin went to check on Minhyuk and Jinwoo during brief breaks in his shift, he found them sitting side-by-side on the floor, Changkyun perched between them, all three of them poring over Minseok’s tablet and working on the video editing project. No dance lessons were occurring yet, but Jinwoo didn’t seem to mind. However stiff and awkward Minhyuk had seemed before, he was lively and animated now, arguing with Jinwoo and disagreeing with him while Changkyun watched like it was a tennis match.

Minseok would poke his head into the break room occasionally, anxious but hopeful at the same time, pleased that his Minhyuk-hyung wasn’t crammed into his hiding place, wherever it was, and also pleased that he was making a friend.

Whenever Dongmin went into the kitchen to pick up an order, Madam Jeon eyed him, like she was waiting for the other shoe drop, for him to change his mind and rat her out, spill her deep dark secret, but he just carried on with business as usual.

At the end of the night, Jinwoo came to help clean up, same as the night before. Minhyuk came with him, and they finished much faster.

“Thanks for your help with the video, hyung,” Minhyuk said. “We can do dance lessons tomorrow night.”

Jinwoo nodded. “No problem. See you tomorrow. You too, Minseok-ah.”

“It was nice to meet you, Minhyuk-ssi,” Dongmin said, pulling on his jacket.

“Ah, you can drop formalities if you like,” Minhyuk said. “I know you’ve been taking good care of Minseokie for months now.”

“All right. You can call me hyung, if you like. You’re about the same age as my younger brother.”

Minhyuk smiled. “Thanks, hyung. See you tomorrow.”

Dongmin and Jinwoo headed for the door.

Madam Jeon caught him right before he could pull it open.

“Do you mean it?” she asked. “You don’t seem judgmental, but some people can’t wait to get home and share the gossip.”

Dongmin looked at her. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like, without him, or what you went through, to get him back. I don’t want to make you suffer further because you love your son.”

She stared at him. “You — you understand.”

“I’m doing my best,” he admitted.

She glanced at Jinwoo. “Thank you,” she said.

He bowed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Chef.”

Jinwoo bowed as well, and they headed for the bus stop.

“So, did you make a new friend?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo nodded. “He’s nice. Smart. Funny. He’s — not like me.”

“Oh?” Dongmin paid their fares, led Jinwoo to the back of the bus where it was deserted.

Jinwoo sat down closest to the window. “He’s not really a persocom.”

Dongmin sat down beside him. “How do you mean?”

“He has the ears, yes. And he needs to charge to keep going. And he’s not a carbon-based life form like you, and he can connect to the wifi and to bluetooth devices to maintain his own functionality, but he’s — human.” Jinwoo looked puzzled. “He’s smart, but his processor doesn’t work like mine does. He can’t do the complex calculations I can do. He was built to resemble a human as closely as possible. He’s not supposed to function like a persocom. He doesn’t have any basic persocom utilities, like email.”

“That must have cost a fortune,” Dongmin said quietly.

“There is no price on human life, or love,” Jinwoo said.

“Can I see the video?”

“I’ll show you when we’re home. It’s pretty amazing.”

Back at the apartment, once Dongmin and Jinwoo were in their pajamas, they settled on the bed, and Jinwoo showed Dongmin the video on his tablet.

“Minhyuk choreographed the dance in three parts, and then Changkyun filmed him dancing all three parts, and we edited all three versions of it together so it looks like this.”

Dongmin leaned in close so he could see, and Jinwoo started the video. 

Minhyuk danced with synchronization and precision, as expected from a persocom, and also from the person who’d choreographed the number, as the only person he had to match was himself. But he also danced with grace, and with style, and with the kind of flair Dongmin wouldn’t have expected from most humans Minhyuk’s age, let alone a persocom. But then Bin had been able to sing with emotion and intensity that shouldn’t have been possible from a persocom either.

“That is really cool,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo said, “We also made a version like this.” He tapped at the tablet and pulled up another video.

For a moment, Dongmin thought it was just a copy of the same one, and then he realized.

They’d edited the video so Minhyuk didn’t have persocom earports.

“We had some video footage of Minhyuk from before the car accident,” Jinwoo said. “It was more work, but there it is.”

Dongmin watched the video and thought Madam Jeon would be heartbroken if she saw it, as if her boy were brought back to life. She cared about Minhyuk as if he were her own son, but did she really believe he was her son in a new body, or did she think of him as some sub-par replacement but she didn’t care?

“He really is such a talented dancer,” Dongmin said. “If I saw that video, I wouldn’t suspect that he was a persocom at all.”

“He isn’t like the rest of us.” Jinwoo set the tablet aside to charge and plugged in Dongmin’s phone, then himself. “I’m excited to learn how to dance tomorrow.”

“Just because Minhyuk is a good dancer doesn’t mean he’ll be a good teacher,” Dongmin warned. He snuggled down under the covers.

Jinwoo lay down beside him, then turned off the bedside lamp. “I think he will be.”

“I hope so, for your sake.” Dongmin took a deep breath, then reached out, left his hand in the space between them.

A moment later, Jinwoo curled his hand through Dongmin’s, and Dongmin closed his eyes.

Assuming Sarah Connor was right, the line from robot to human could be crossed. Minhyuk was proof of that. But had Jinwoo crossed that line? Yes, he was cute and charming and animated, far more socially savvy than most other persocoms, and puppies loved him.

If Dongmin let himself  _ feel _ for Jinwoo, would he just be setting himself up for heartbreak, caring about a machine that couldn’t ever quite reciprocate his feelings? Or would he be like Madam Jeon, knowing his affection was for a subpar replacement for a human but too desperate to care? How pathetic was that, anyway? Was it pathetic, if Jinwoo really was a sentient being and a person? How could Jinwoo prove he was a  _ person? _

How did anyone prove they were a person? Humans had the assumption in their favor; because they were born human, people assumed they were people, capable of love and affection, and only a rare few were categorized as something else, as  _ less _ than or incapable of love and affection, the sociopaths and psychopaths of the world. And even then, plenty of sociopaths went undetected because they could fake it, and they lived decent lives with family and friends.

If Jinwoo could fake it well enough, did he not deserve love and affection? And if Dongmin couldn’t tell if he was faking it, if Dongmin was happy, where was the harm?

Dongmin shut his eyes.

Was Dongmin really thinking about  _ feeling _ for Jinwoo? He’d had Jinwoo in his life for all of one week. 

But then Dongmin remembered his life before Jinwoo, cold and empty, and he shuffled closer to Jinwoo just a bit.

“Good night,” he whispered. “Rest well.”

“Sweet dreams, Dongminnie,” Jinwoo said, his voice a soothing rumble.

It was easy to tumble into dreams after that.

* * *

The next morning, Dongmin woke to the sound of pots and pans clinking softly in the kitchen. He sat up, confused. The bed beside him was empty. He wriggled across the mattress to the nightstand and squinted at the clock on his phone. It was an hour after his alarm usually went off. What was going on?

He rolled to his feet and made the bed, scooped up his glasses, and padded into the main room. Jinwoo was in the kitchen wearing an apron Dongmin didn’t recall owning, wearing little disposable plastic gloves and making triangle kimbap, just like Dongmin had showed him the week before. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo said, “You didn’t hear your alarm go off, so I thought you could use the rest. Besides, I’m cooking. You can study however much you need while I do some chores. But I’m almost finished anyway.”

“Right. I’ll just work out and then shower.” Dongmin covered a yawn with one hand. “Thanks.”

“Like I said, you obviously needed the rest.” Jinwoo smiled and resumed measuring rice onto the gim.

Dongmin’s workouts most mornings were brief, a run around the block when the weather was warm or jump rope when it was cold and some bodyweight resistance exercises to wake himself up. On the weekend he could take more time, be a bit more detailed, but compared to the time he’d been able to take in high school and middle school, when he’d been more active in sports, he was sorely lacking, but he knew it was best to keep up the habit, that he’d be glad for some basic fitness when it came time for his enlistment.

Once Dongmin was finished, the warm shower woke him up the rest of the way. By the time he was dressed and in clean clothes, Jinwoo had finished making the kimbap and had moved on to cleaning the kitchen.

Dongmin made himself a study nest on the beanbags, and he set to work, reading ahead for his lectures in the coming week. If he worked hard on the weekend, he could have most of Saturday off, and that would be good for him mentally.

When Jinwoo finished cleaning the kitchen, he wiped down the bathroom, and he vacuumed the bedroom and den space, and he tidied the bedroom. Because Dongmin and Jinwoo were both fairly neat people, it didn’t take long.

When Jinwoo was finished, he took off the apron and hung it from a peg in the kitchen, and he stood beside the bean bag nest.

“May I join you?”

Dongmin had his textbooks and notebooks and pens and highlighters and other study supplies spread across the coffee table, which he’d dragged close. The large monitor was perched on it.

“Sure,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and plopped down beside Dongmin, close but not quite touching, and spread the blanket across both of them.

“I’m going to hang out online with Binnie,” Jinwoo said. 

Dongmin nodded. “All right. Enjoy.”

Jinwoo curled up beside him, and Dongmin continued reading and taking notes. He never marked up his textbooks, because he wanted to get a good price on selling his textbooks back, and he liked having very detailed notes to work from, especially if exams were open-note but not open-book.

He was halfway through his second subject when he realized he hadn’t heard Jinwoo say a word.

He glanced over at Jinwoo, whose gaze was empty and distant.

Alarm sparked under Dongmin’s skin. “Jinwoo? Are you all right?” 

Jinwoo blinked, then sat up a little. “Pardon? Oh, I was just talking to Binnie.”

“What? But — you weren’t moving or making a sound.”

“Ah, we were instant messaging each other. We don’t need monitors or anything to send and receive and process messages and data.”

Right. Of course. Persocom-to-persocom connections were basically like telepathy.

“Oh. It’s just — after what happened with Changkyun, I thought —”

Jinwoo looked amused. “Were you worried about me?”

“There’s precedent for it,” Dongmin said.

“Oooh, precedent. Spoken like a true lawyer.”

“I’m not used to a fancy persocom like you,” Dongmin protested, but he knew he was blushing.

Jinwoo reached up and ruffled Dongmin’s hair. “I think it’s sweet that you worried about me. I appreciate it. But I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

“If I suddenly collapse onto you like dead weight then I’m probably not fine,” Jinwoo said, but he curled up beside Dongmin again and fell silent.

Dongmin kept on studying till it was time to take a break for lunch, which really was leftovers Granny had given them the night before. During his lunch break, he and Jinwoo had a video call with Dongmin’s family, which made his mother very happy. Donghyun reported on his study progress and assured Dongmin he’d make it into the top five percent. 

After the video call, Dongmin resumed studying, and Jinwoo ended up playing some kind of video game online. He left it on mute, and as it turned out he didn’t need to sway with it, could stay curled beside Dongmin and play.

Jinwoo’s presence was warm and comforting, just like when they were sleeping next to each other, and Dongmin liked it. If anyone asked, he’d say it reminded him of when he was a kid and Donghyun hung out with him while they were studying, but he knew he’d be lying.

When it was finally time to head to work, Jinwoo was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Have you talked to Minhyuk at all about what you plan to do for your dance lesson? Picked a song or anything?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo shook his head. “I can’t connect to him like I can to Binnie.”

“Did you watch any dance videos on YouTube or something to see what kinds of dances you might learn?”

“I probably have to learn the basics first,” Jinwoo said.

“True. Well, I hope you two have fun.” Dongmin smiled and patted Jinwoo’s hand.

Jinwoo beamed at him, and Dongmin felt his heart melt.

That evening, instead of staying cramped in the tiny break room, Minhyuk and Minseok had cleared out a back storage room Dongmin hadn’t even known existed to make space for dance lessons.

“Remember,” Madam Jeon said, “keep the music down.”

Minhyuk nodded and saluted her, his expression adorably solemn. But then he tugged on Jinwoo’s arm and said, “Come on, hyung. Let me show you the preliminary choreo I came up with.”

“Come to the kitchen to learn today’s specials when you’re ready,” Madam Jeon said to Dongmin and Minseok, who nodded obediently.

“Think Jinwoo will be able to learn how to dance?” Minseok asked, tying on his apron.

“Computers can learn a lot of things faster than we can,” Dongmin said. “I don’t know if dance is one of them.”

“Check my apron?” Minseok asked.

Dongmin nodded and checked the knot, and then Minseok checked Dongmin’s apron, and they headed to the kitchen together.

In some ways, the shift was just like old times, before Jinwoo, because whenever Dongmin had a moment to poke his head into the break room, all he saw was Changkyun curled up on top of Minseok’s backpack, but then he passed by the door he’d thought was a second broom cupboard, and he knew Jinwoo and Minhyuk were back there having a good time, and he smiled.

Business was brisk, and customers seemed happy, and plenty of people asked Dongmin to send his compliments to the chef, but he couldn’t help keeping an ear out for any rumors about Madam Jeon’s lost son replaced by a persocom. He heard none, but he was wary all the same.

At the end of the shift, once all the customers were gone and the doors were locked and the blinds were drawn, Minhyuk and Jinwoo helped clean the dining room. 

But Dongmin could see the excitement shining in Jinwoo’s eyes, and once the dining room was clean, he said, 

“So, what did you learn tonight? Got anything to show us?”

“Here, we need to shift a couple of tables,” Minhyuk said, and of course Minseok obliged his brother, and Jinwoo helped.

“What is going on?” Granny asked, but Minseok said,

“Would you please go get Changkyun from the break room? So he can record.”

Granny looked puzzled, but she nodded and shuffled away, reappeared a few moments later with a blinking and sleepy Changkyun perched on her shoulder.

“What now?” he asked. 

Minhyuk said, “That song I uploaded to you this morning, for teaching Jinwoo-hyung to dance. Remember I told you to mark it to a certain timestamp?”

Changkyun nodded and blinked some more, looked more awake.

“When I tell you, start recording, then start the song from that mark,” Minhyuk said.

Changkyun nodded again and sat up straighter.

Minhyuk gestured to Jinwoo, and the two of them assumed starting positions in the center of the small space they’d cleared, standing quite close and facing each other.

“Ready? Go!”

Changkyun held up his little hands and mimed holding an invisible camera, and music began to play.

Dongmin didn’t recognize the song, some kind of EDM, maybe something brand new and trendy, maybe something old in a genre that he’d never kept track of.

Minhyuk and Jinwoo were looking at each other, nodding at each other, unspoken communication passing between them, questioning and reassurance.

The beat dropped, and they both snapped into action, hands on each other’s shoulders, only Jinwoo ducked under Minhyuk’s arm and slid in front of him, and the motion was like they were weaving their arms together, and then they were dancing offset, motions mirrored but synchronized, and then they were dancing single file, limbs all at different angles, a single organism blossoming.

They shifted levels, they shifted angles, they spun out, they spun in. There was a moment when they were in close, moving as a pair, and Jinwoo moved his hands and Minhyuk flowed with him, as if Jinwoo were controlling him. They took turns, had little solos, though it was clear that Minhyuk was the more technically skilled dancer. His ballet training shone through with breathtakingly fast spins, but at the end he and Jinwoo arced to their feet, ending as they’d begun, standing close, facing each other, though this time on opposite sides.

Changkyun lowered his hands, and the music cut off.

Minseok and Granny burst into applause. Dongmin applauded as well. 

Granny pulled Minhyuk into an affectionate hug and ruffled his hair. “Aigoo, my little Minhyukie, you still dance so pretty.”

“Granny, I dance  _ cool. _ That was  _ cool. _ We have swag,” he protested, but he was smiling, and he hugged her back.

“I’ll have Changkyun send you the video,” Minseok said — to Jinwoo, and Dongmin was pleased.

“Well?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin slung an arm around his shoulders and squeezed him briefly. “You looked really good out there. You learned so fast.”

“I told you Minhyuk would be a really good teacher.” Jinwoo’s grin was sun-bright, and Dongmin’s heart ached. He looked so happy.

“I’m glad you boys could have fun,” Madam Jeon said.

Dongmin spun around.

She stood in the doorway with a reusable grocery bag. “Here’s tonight’s leftovers, Dongmin-ah. Eat well. I put your pay in there too. See you next weekend.”

Dongmin bowed. “Thank you, Chef. I will see you next weekend.”

Jinwoo and Minhyuk were helping Minseok put the tables back in their rightful places.

“Ah, hyung?” Minhyuk asked. “Could I get your number? So we can hang out sometime, when Minseok is out with his friends maybe. If — if your owner doesn’t mind.”

Jinwoo said, “Dongminnie is really just my roommate. He doesn’t mind. Sure, here’s my number, and my email address, and my KakaoTalk ID. Call or message or email anytime. And if you want me to learn any new choreo, feel free to have Changkyun record it and send it and I’ll do my best before I see you again.”

Dongmin flinched at  _ just my roommate. _ On the one hand, he was glad Jinwoo knew Dongmin didn’t consider himself Jinwoo’s owner. On the other hand, he felt like they were more than just roommates.

Minhyuk nodded. “All right. Thanks, hyung.”

Dongmin changed out of his uniform, grabbed his bag, and then bundled up in his cold weather gear, and headed for the door.

Jinwoo joined him, and they bade Granny and Minseok and Changkyun good night.

“Should I wrap my jacket around the food to keep it warm before we get home?” Jinwoo asked. 

“What? No, you’ll be cold,” Dongmin said.

“I’m not as sensitive to cold as you are,” Jinwoo said. “And my battery won’t drain before we get home because of the cold.”

“You can still feel cold,” Dongmin said. “And it doesn’t matter if the food gets cold, because it’s going in the fridge anyway.”

“Okay.”

They climbed onto the bus, and because Dongmin had his hands full, Jinwoo paid.

Dongmin had been keeping a mental running tally of how much was being drained from his account, and he was so lucky today was payday.

“You really looked amazing out there,” Dongmin said. “You looked so good, and you’d learned so fast. I’d never have guessed it was your first try.”

“Minhyuk-ah is a really good teacher,” Jinwoo said. “And we do learn fast, compared to humans. At some things.”

“We should watch the video at home,” Dongmin said, “and you can relive your glory. Also you should send it to Bin, so he can see. Maybe see if he’ll make a singing video for you. That could be a fun trade.”

Jinwoo smiled. “Yeah. Or maybe I could teach him a dance and he could teach me a song.”

Dongmin nodded. “Yeah.”

But he couldn’t help wondering. If Jinwoo could learn that fast, did that make him  _ less _ human?

Dongmin remembered Sarah Connor’s husky, pensive voice.

_ But they’re perfect creatures, and in that way, they couldn’t be less human. _

Back at the apartment, they readied themselves for bed. 

“You know,” Dongmin said, once they were curled up side by side in the darkness, linked only by their hands, “since I’m not your owner, you’re not required to live with me. Yes, because of me you’re not stuck in a box in storage anymore, but you don’t  _ have _ to stay with me. I know you told Minhyuk we’re just roommates, but if you wanted you could go live with Bin or something.”

“Somehow I doubt Myungjun wants me adding to his electricity bill,” Jinwoo said.

“I mean, if you still helped me with Professor Do’s class, that would be great,” Dongmin said. “But you can choose where you want to live.”

“That’s very nice of you, but you know that’s not really true,” Jinwoo said quietly. “I can’t just rent an apartment of my own the way you can, because I can’t have money of my own. If I did have access to money of my own, I’d have to lie and say I had permission from some real human.”

“I’d give you permission if I had money.”

“I know. And I know you’ve given me the choice to live where I want, under the law, and I choose to live with you,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin was glad the lights were out, because then Jinwoo couldn’t see him blushing. “All right.”

Jinwoo squeezed his hand lightly. “But maybe sometimes I’ll have a sleepover at Bin’s. Friends crash with friends sometimes, right?”

“Yeah. Usually after drinking, though. You don’t drink.”

“Don’t have to drink to have fun and then be tired after,” Jinwoo said.

“True.” Dongmin couldn’t help but smile at Jinwoo — at how smart he was, beyond a computer’s artificial intelligence, at his genuine kindness, how he reassured Dongmin when really Dongmin wasn’t the one who deserved comforting.

“Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you,” Jinwoo said.

“I’m not worried,” Dongmin said.

“All right. Good night. Sleep well.”

“Good night to you too. Rest well.”

* * *

But Dongmin was worried, after classes the next day, when he stopped by the bank to deposit his pay.

He stared at his pitifully small bank balance and did quick math, quick enough math to maybe even impress a persocom. Between all the extra bus fares for Jinwoo and the internet bill he now faced, plus upcoming rent, and also setting aside money to buy Christmas presents for his family (and also Myungjun and Bin and Jinwoo and his coworkers at the restaurant), he wouldn’t be able to eat lunches for the rest of the month if he wanted to make it till his next payday.

That was fine. Madam Jeon had given him plenty of leftovers. That hot cocoa really hit the spot and kept him going during his midday study break. He could make the leftovers last a little longer, cut back on dinners as well, and everything would be fine.

When he got home after classes, Jinwoo was waiting for him at the bus stop, looking a little anxious.

“Are you all right?” Jinwoo asked. “You weren’t on your usual bus.”

“Ah, I stopped by the bank to deposit my pay was all,” Dongmin said. “So I’m a bit late.”

He and Jinwoo fell into step beside each other on the way back to the apartment.

Dongmin looked Jinwoo up and down. “I see you’ve still got your backpack. Just returned from your adventures?”

“Yes,” Jinwoo said.

“Tell me about them?”

“Over dinner,” Jinwoo said. 

“All right.” 

Dongmin made sure his notes on his tablet were synced while Jinwoo reheated some restaurant leftovers, and then he listened to Jinwoo talk about the people he’d met that day — a famous old pansori singer, a young gayageum prodigy who did K-pop covers on YouTube.

“I watched some of her videos, and she was very impressive,” Jinwoo said.

“How young is young?” Dongmin asked, wary of Jinwoo talking to pretty teenage girls, because teenage girls loved him.

“Ten.”

“That is impressive,” Dongmin said. But he was distracted while Jinwoo talked, crunching numbers in his head. 

While they were washing dishes, Dongmin contemplated the mechanics of a second part-time job. If he shortened his morning work-out time, he could study in the morning before class, and then he was getting more done studying on his lunch break, although with a second job he could at least afford some food. After classes he could come home, study seriously while Jinwoo cooked, and then work an evening shift somewhere. Maybe a convenience store? If one was close by he wouldn’t have to take the bus. With the holiday season here, he could probably take advantage of his good looks and get a job in retail somewhere. The notion was terrible, but he’d had barely ₩20,000 in his account before payday. And if he wanted to keep Jinwoo safe, Jinwoo needed a mobile data plan, and if Jinwoo wanted to have a fun, fulfilling life, he deserved a bigger daily travel budget than the one Dongmin had him on. 

“Are you all right?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin smiled. “I’m fine. Just, you know, thinking about finals and things. Maybe a little stressed. It’s normal. I’ve survived finals before.”

He felt bad for lying to Jinwoo, but he couldn’t burden Jinwoo with his financial problems. Last night, Jinwoo had reminded Dongmin of the bitter truth, that no matter how Dongmin might consider Jinwoo a sentient being and a real person, under the law Jinwoo was property, with no right to money or property of his own. Where Dongmin had the freedom to have both, he had the responsibility of providing for both himself and Jinwoo. 

Jinwoo patted Dongmin’s arm. “Go study. I’ll finish up here in the kitchen.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Dongmin dried his hands on a dish towel and headed into the den. Even though Jinwoo was a persocom and was connected to the internet and could connect to the tablet via Bluetooth, the tablet was a separate device. If Dongmin used the tablet to apply for jobs, would Jinwoo know?

He could wait till he was on campus tomorrow, do it on his lunch break on a library computer so Jinwoo wouldn’t find out and worry unnecessarily. 

Soft music started to play, an orchestral piece Dongmin didn’t really recognize but that was pretty, soothing. Maybe the instrumental version of a song from a drama OST. 

Dongmin lifted his head. Jinwoo handed him a mug of hot cocoa. 

“Don’t study too hard,” he said. 

“Thanks.” Dongmin took a sip and offered a small smile. 

But he would have to study his hardest on the weekends to get ahead if he was working weeknights too.

Just contemplating the future exhaustion he faced was making him tired. 

But then he glanced at Jinwoo and knew it was the only way, and the right thing to do. 

* * *

The next morning, when Jinwoo gently shook Dongmin awake in place of his alarm, Jinwoo was already fully dressed. Dongmin blinked, confused. The side of the bed where Jinwoo slept was cold. 

“What’s going on? Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine,” Jinwoo said. “I just got up a little early.”

Dongmin rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t considered how boring it must be for you, just lying there. At least in the den you could watch dramas or play video games while you charged.”

“Really, don’t worry. Binnie and I talk to each other a lot while you and Myungjun sleep. Now come on. It’s time for you to work out.”

With a second job, Dongmin would be on his feet more, could work out a little less, so he cut his workout short. Maybe he ought to look into some of those really short intense workouts, those seven-minute ones, to save time. 

Dongmin did his morning run, hopped into the shower, and dressed. 

“I’m going to head to campus and do some prep work for study group on Thursday,” he said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. 

Jinwoo nodded. “All right. But before you go, make sure you have some kimbap and some pepero.”

Dongmin, halfway into his jacket, paused and accepted the kimbap, tucked it carefully into one of his jacket pockets so it wouldn’t get squashed. Then he accepted the package of pepero and paused. 

It was homemade pepero, two large sticks dipped in chocolate and covered with pink and white sprinkles. They were artfully made. Dongmin remembered being cold and alone, pressing his face to the window of the computer store and watching the video of the Jinjin Pro making pepero on Pepero Day. 

That was one of Jinwoo’s special features: pepero-making. 

“You made these yourself?”

Jinwoo nodded and smiled. “We’ve been together ten days now, and also you seemed like you needed cheering up, so I went to the grocery store early and bought supplies.”

Dongmin’s heart crawled into his throat. “Bought supplies? But surely that cost more than your bus money. Jinwoo, where did you get the money from?”

“You’ve used me to log into your bank account, so obviously I can access your account and pay for things digitally,” Jinwoo said. 

Jinwoo was just a machine. He could do complex calculations at the drop of a hat, but he didn’t understand what Dongmin had to do to maintain his budget so they could both stay alive. 

“Jinwoo,” Dongmin said very carefully, “you can’t just  _ buy _ things if they’re not on the grocery list on the weekend. We have the list for a reason, so we stay within our budget.”

Jinwoo cocked his head, puzzled. “But we have enough money.”

Dongmin pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it, opened his banking app with slow hands, dread curling in the pit of his stomach. Knowing Jinwoo, he’d have picked very nice ingredients, and those weren’t cheap, and —

Dongmin stared at his bank balance in disbelief. “I didn’t have this much money last night. Jinwoo, what happened?”

Jinwoo grinned. “I got paid! I get paid every week. Direct deposit happens first thing in the morning.”

“Paid?” Dongmin echoed. “You have a job? But — you’re a persocom.”

“Persocoms can be employed on behalf of their owners,” Jinwoo said. “We get paid a little less, but we get paid. The money goes straight into your account.”

“How did I not know about this? I thought you were going out and having fun,” Dongmin said.

“You said I could go and do what I wanted to do. I got a job at a music shop near campus.”

“You sent me pictures of the park.”

“I did go to the park one day.”

Dongmin stared at his newer, bigger bank balance, still confused. “Then when I see persocoms waiting tables at restaurants —”

“Sometimes those belong to the restaurant, but sometimes they’re personally owned, making a bit of extra money for their owners,” Jinwoo said.

“But I’m not your  _ owner,” _ Dongmin said. His throat closed.

“I know you’re not,” Jinwoo said. “But I told you. I like being your hyung and taking care of you.”

Dongmin’s eyes burned. “Why are you so nice to me? Is it because I told you to be my hyung in friendly mode when we first met? I don’t deserve to have you be this nice to me. No human does. I —” He bit back a sob, embarrassed and confused.

But it all made sense, how Jinwoo had stopped sending pictures, and the way he’d talked about meeting a bunch of musicians.

“Maybe I thought you were cute the first time I saw you looking in the window at me,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin blinked and scrubbed at his eyes. “What? That was you?”

“They would let me sit in the window sometimes, to entice new customers, but otherwise I was in the back in a box in storage,” Jinwoo said. He reached out and pulled Dongmin into his arms. “You take care of me. Let me take care of you too.”

Dongmin buried his face against Jinwoo’s hair and nodded, hiccupping a little. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I care about you,” Jinwoo said quietly. “You said for me to tell you how I feel. I want you to know how I feel. Even if you don’t feel anything back, I still want you to know how I feel.”

Dongmin wanted to ask how Jinwoo felt, but he was terrified of the answer. Instead, he squeezed Jinwoo tightly and said, “Thank you for being my hyung. Have you been, what, racing to catch the bus home ahead of me so you can meet me at the bus stop?”

“Maybe,” Jinwoo admitted. “I wanted it to be a surprise. You were surprised, right?”

“I was surprised.” Dongmin laughed wetly.

“You don’t have to skip lunch anymore.”

“You knew I was skipping lunch?”

“You weren’t packing a lunch. I watched you in the mornings.”

Dongmin pulled back. “I’ll come see you at the music shop after class and we can ride the bus home together, okay?”

“I’d like that,” Jinwoo said. “You’ll like the music shop. Everyone there is very nice.”

Dongmin smiled and wiped his face. “All right. Do you want to ride the bus to campus together too?”

Jinwoo nodded. “Yeah. Let me grab my backpack, and we can go.”

On the way to the bus stop, Dongmin ate his morning kimbap. “It’ll be cheaper,” he said, “to buy supplies and make lunches in advance and take them, than to buy lunch on campus.”

“You should come visit me on your lunch break,” Jinwoo said.

“I should study on my lunch break,” Dongmin said virtuously. 

Jinwoo pouted, and Dongmin said, “On days I don’t have to study, I’ll come visit, all right?”

And Jinwoo lit up. He nudged Dongmin and said, “How does the pepero taste? Since I can’t taste it myself.”

Dongmin opened the cute little cellophane package tied with pretty gold ribbon, which Jinwoo had curled artfully, and took a bite of the first stick. 

“Good! Really good.”

Jinwoo looked pleased.

Dongmin searched his gaze, wondered if he was disappointed that Dongmin hadn’t pressed forward for a full confession. So he said,

“Let’s take a picture of us eating the pepero and send it to Myungjun and Bin. To celebrate our ten days together.”

Jinwoo nodded and scooted closer. It took a bit of finagling, for the two of them to get their mouths on opposite ends of the pepero stick and snap a picture. They took several, and then Jinwoo took over Dongmin’s phone, swiping through different filters and editing the photo before he handed the phone back.

“There, that looks good. You can send it to Myungjun-hyung now.”

Dongmin laughed. “So vain.”

Jinwoo posed and preened, the same pose Myungjun often struck. “I learned from the best.”

A moment later, Myungjun sent a reply.  _ You two look so cute! So Jinwoo has the Pepero-Making feature, then? _

_ He does, _ Dongmin replied.

_ How did it taste? _

_ Delicious. _

The bus arrived, and Dongmin and Jinwoo climbed on. It was very crowded for the morning commute, so Dongmin found a ring to hold and then wrapped an arm around Jinwoo’s waist to keep him steady.

As people climbed on and off, plenty jostled past Jinwoo rudely, uncaring of when they bumped him with their backpacks and briefcases and laptop bags. Dongmin tugged Jinwoo closer, shielding him with his own body, and glared when one high school boy swung his backpack toward Jinwoo’s head.

“Yah! Watch where you’re going.”

“It’s just a persocom,” the boy said and shrugged, hopped off the bus.

“It’s okay, I’m short,” Jinwoo said, and he tucked himself more securely against Dongmin, under his chin.

“People don’t need to be rude,” Dongmin said.

A businessman with a sleekly-dressed female persocom beside him — Dongmin could have mistaken her for his personal assistant, but for her earports — said, “Kids have no respect for a business investment these days. A fine persocom is like an expensive car. You don’t want someone scratching it.” He patted the persocom on the knee, the gesture proprietary.

She didn’t respond, gazing straight ahead, expressionless.

The man added, “One day I’ll have an expensive car.”

That wasn’t what Dongmin had meant at all. He swallowed down his disgust.

When the bus arrived at campus, Dongmin ushered Jinwoo off first so he didn’t get crushed in the press of human traffic.

On the sidewalk, Dongmin said, “I have a few minutes before my first lecture. Show me your music shop.”

It was right next to the Fantagio Computers outlet. Dongmin had walked past Heartstrings Music many times.

The woman behind the counter looked up and smiled.

“Good morning, Jinwoo-ssi. You’re here early.”

He bowed. “Good morning, Yoonsoo-ssi. This is my owner, Lee Dongmin.”

Dongmin’s stomach turned at being called Jinwoo’s owner, but he bowed and smiled and greeted the woman. She was tall and slender, built like a dancer.

“I just wanted to see where Jinwoo-hyung was working,” Dongmin said. “I might stop by and say hello on my lunch break sometimes.”

Jung Yoonsoo was the manager of Heartstrings. “We are very pleased to have Jinwoo-ssi with us. He’s a very good worker, and a hard worker. Joonhee-ssi taught him to play the drums, so he can do demos for customers sometimes. You should see him play. He’s amazing. Shin-ssi might teach him the guitar sometime as well. Do you play any musical instruments?”

“I played piano when I was in high school, but I don’t have a piano now,” Dongmin said.

Yoonsoo gestured to the baby grand in the middle of the sales floor. Besides pianos, the shop sold violins, band instruments, and also some traditional Korean instruments, like the gayageum.

“Show us what you’ve got,” she said.

Jinwoo reached into his backpack and held out some sheet music. “You can sight read, can’t you?”

“I can, but it’s been a while,” Dongmin said. “If the piece is difficult, I probably won’t do well.”

But he sat down on the piano bench, adjusted it for his longer legs, warmed up his wrists.

Jinwoo spread out the sheet music. Dongmin scanned it. It wasn’t a piece he recognized, had no title or composer. It wasn’t complicated, was in a minor key.

“Why this piece?” Dongmin asked, settling his hands on the keys.

“Myungjun and I wrote it,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin looked up at him. “You and Myungjun?”

“Yes. Myungjun started the melody and recorded it, and Binnie sent it to me, and at night, I work on it, with Binnie’s help, since he has fancy music composition software.” Jinwoo smiled.

Dongmin stared at him, felt something in his chest start to swell and grow warm. “All right. Then I have to do my best.”

And he began to play.

The song was beautiful, lulling and flowing but sweet and sad. It felt like less like a pop song and more like an orchestral song, seemed to have repeated movements more than discrete verses and choruses.

Dongmin made it all the way through without any mistakes, because it was a fairly simple piece, which made sense if it was Jinwoo’s first piece.

Yoonsoo applauded. “You’re very talented. No wonder Jinwoo-ssi is so good at music. He must be around good music all the time at home.”

“Thank you,” Dongmin said, bowing, blushing. “I’m sorry I didn’t do better,” he said to Jinwoo. “It’s been so long since I’ve played. If I had time to practice, I could do better.”

Yoonsoo smiled. “Practice here any time.”

“I’m still working on the lyrics,” Jinwoo said. “Myungjun said he and Binnie will sing for me. Maybe he’ll find a few more singers. You sang well when we did the noraebang. Will you sing for me?”

“Of course.” Dongmin smiled, but his heart was pounding.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Calendar alert.

“Class. I have to get to class. I’ll see you after classes, hyung. It was a pleasure to meet you, Yoonsoo-ssi. Thank you for taking such good care of my Jinwoo-hyung.” Dongmin ducked out of the music shop and hoped neither of them had noticed how much he was blushing.

Music. Jinwoo could write music.

Bin could sing, and Minhyuk could dance, and Jinwoo could write music.

Dongmin wanted to text Myungjun and ask what he knew about it, just how much of the music-writing process Jinwoo had contributed to, but no. He had to get to class and focus.

“Dongmin-ssi,” Mido said, when Dongmin slid into his seat right as Professor Woo began his lecture. “I thought you weren’t going to be in class today.”

“Sorry. Was running late,” Dongmin said.

Soyeon eyed him. “You were literally running.”

Dongmin tried to smooth down his hair with one hand while he got his tablet and textbook out of his bag with his other hand.

“Or were you with a fine lady and overslept your alarm?” Eunho asked in a low voice. “Miscalculated the bus ride from her place instead of yours?”

“How could you suggest such a thing?” Dongmin hissed. “You want to go to the seminary after law school!”

Eunho’s eyes went wide. “Who told you that?”

Professor Woo glared at them.

Dongmin ducked his head and began taking notes.

After class, Eunho said, “Really, who told you that?”

Dongmin said, “Woomi-ssi has a stack of seminary pamphlets for you. She accidentally put one into my notebook when she was scanning my outlines.”

Eunho glanced at Woomi, then at Dongmin. “Persocoms don’t accidentally do anything.”

“As if you’ve never accidentally dialed someone with a stray voice command,” Soyeon drawled. “Study group on Thursday after class?”

Dongmin nodded. “See you there.”

“Your handwriting is really nice,” Mido said, patting Dongmin’s arm. “Keep up the good work. Where’s Jinwoo-ssi?”

“He’s at his part-time job. That’s why I was almost late. I was just dropping him off,” Dongmin said.

Mido patted his arm. “Ah, very wise, and an efficient use of your persocom, if you don’t need him in every class. See you Thursday.”

Dongmin nodded and headed to his next class.

For the rest of the day, he was in a daze. Jinwoo had written a song with Myungjun. A really pretty song.

He’d done it, hadn’t he? Crossed the line from robot to human? He’d created art. It was a sign of his humanity, beyond artificial intelligence.

When lunchtime arrived, Dongmin caved and called Myungjun. He bought the cheapest thing he could pick off the menu at the law school cafeteria — knowing that Jinwoo had seen his pathetic finances and taken pity on him was something he’d have to process later — and gobbled it down and then found a secluded corner and called.

“What’s up?” Myungjun sounded like he was talking with his mouth full.

“Jinwoo said you and he are writing a song together?”

“Oh, that? I came up with a vague melody and passed it off to him, but he’s really done the rest. I guess Binnie mentioned it and showed off the composition and production software I downloaded one time, and Jinwoo’s kind of taken over. He’s got big plans — he wants me and Binnie to sing, and maybe even Sanha too.”

“Sanha? Not Yoon Sanha?” Dongmin asked.

“You know him?”

“How do  _ you _ know him?” Dongmin asked. 

“He works with me at the computer store,” Myungjun said. “What about you?”

“He was working at the computer store near campus and entered me into the sweepstakes, which is how I came by Jinwoo. He delivered Jinwoo to me and everything,” Dongmin said.

“Oh. What a small world. He transferred to my store a few days ago. He has a pretty singing voice and plays the guitar. I said I’d ask if he wanted to help out with the project,” Myungjun said. “Jinwoo’s ambitious. He wants a bunch of live instruments.”

“Well, he’s working at a music shop now, so that shouldn’t be a problem,” Dongmin said.

“He’s writing a rap part for himself and maybe another rapper, K-pop style,” Myungjun said. “Binnie’s not a bad rapper, but Jinwoo might need to ask around. But really, the song is mostly his. He’s having fun with it, and it gives him and Binnie something to do at night so they’re not bored, so I figure they should enjoy themselves.”

“Have you heard the song?” Dongmin asked.

“Beyond the basic melody I turned into a midi file? No.”

“Jinwoo had piano sheet music today. I played it for him. It’s really beautiful,” Dongmin said. His chest tightened. The song had been beautiful, for all its simplicity.

“I’m not surprised,” Myungjun said. “Jinwoo is a very sensitive person. I haven’t known him very long, but I can tell.”

Dongmin straightened up. “You call him a person.”

“Because he is a person.”

“But you and Bin —”

“Binnie is a person to me too,” Myungjun said, with uncharacteristic seriousness. His voice was low. “I know you always thought it was weird, how fond I am of Binnie, but I care about him. A lot. Once I saw how you treated Jinwoo, I figured it was safe. To be honest about my relationship with Binnie. He’s my best friend, and I’m his. I’m doing my best to get good at computers and gaming so I can customize Binnie so that one day he can one day be as independent as possible. People tune in to see Binnie when I stream, and one day people will tune in to see just Binnie, when I’m too busy with my career.”

“So if I —” Dongmin swallowed hard. “If I really like Jinwoo —”

“I hope you’re brave and have a happy day one,” Myungjun said. “Unless you already confessed? Did you get a boyfriend and not tell me? Dongminnie, what kind of cousin are you?”

“No, I haven’t. I just —” Dongmin sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “Thanks, Myungjun-hyung. I appreciate it a lot. We’ll come and hang out this weekend if we can.”

“Be brave,” Myungjun said. “Have a good day.”

The call ended, and Dongmin stared at his phone, his pulse roaring in his ears. He  _ liked _ Jinwoo. And he was pretty sure Jinwoo liked him back.

All through the rest of his classes, Dongmin was nervous and distracted. As soon as classes were over, he shoved his books and tablet into his book bag and headed for the door, pulling on his jacket and scarf and hat, wincing in the cold as he headed for the music shop.

When he arrived, the shop was quite crowded — and loud.

Jinwoo was the center of attention, sitting at the drums and playing along to an American pop song with a girl singing. He was an amazing drummer, hands fast, coordinated, but also full of impressive showmanship and flash, twirling his drumsticks and grinning while he played.

When the song ended, people cheered and applauded.

Jinwoo rose and bowed.

“You’re so good!” a teenage girl said, and she reached out to try to ruffle Jinwoo’s hair.

A boy about Dongmin’s age, with wild hair and big glasses, swooped in and intercepted, slung an arm around Jinwoo’s shoulders.

“Jinwoo-ssi has been a very diligent student,” he said. He must have been Joonhee. “As you can see, these Zildjian cymbals have excellent sound. Paired with Pearl drums, you can sound just like him. After diligent practice.”

Jinwoo grinned and flashed a peace sign, and several people stepped forward, inspected the drums more closely.

Then Jinwoo spotted Dongmin, and he lit up.

“Dongminnie, you’re done with classes?”

Dongmin nodded. His heart was pounding again, so loud he was sure everyone else could hear it. He was probably blushing, but then it was cold out and he’d practically run all the way here, so even if people noticed he was blushing, no one would know why, right?

“Oh, this is your Dongminnie? You said he was handsome, but I didn’t think it was possible for a real human to be this handsome,” Joonhee said. “Yeo Joonhee. Nice to meet you.”

“Lee Dongmin. Nice to meet you too.” Dongmin smiled nervously.

“Jinwoo’s finished with his shift for the day.” Joonhee patted Jinwoo’s head affectionately, and Jinwoo grinned at him.

Dongmin felt an unexpected surge of jealousy. 

“You worked hard,” Joonhee said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Joonhee-ssi. You worked hard, too. See you tomorrow.” Jinwoo bowed and waved, and then he curled his hand around Dongmin’s wrist. “Let’s go, Dongminnie.”

Together, they headed for the bus stop.

The entire time, Dongmin was hyperaware of Jinwoo’s hand on his wrist, how warm and gentle it was.

Jinwoo didn’t let go while they stood waiting at the bus stop, because an elderly couple was seated on the bench.

On the bus home, Dongmin’s heart thumped loudly in his ears, slow and steady but loud, so loud he was sure everyone around them could hear it, that Jinwoo could feel it, because Jinwoo was still holding his hand. 

Somehow Dongmin managed to make small talk about Jinwoo’s coworkers. Joonhee seemed nice. He was a good drum teacher. He played in a band with Lee Shin, the guitarist who worked at the shop. They were both practical music majors at the university. Dongmin asked Jinwoo about the song he’d written, about his plans for it. Jinwoo talked about the arrangement he wanted, something sweeping and orchestral, since Dongmin liked classical music. He and Bin had managed to approximate one with the digital instruments in Bin’s music production software, but Jinwoo wanted real instruments. Joonhee and Shin said they’d help him, since they knew lots of musicians. 

“I can use the piano part you played for me,” Jinwoo said. “Once I clean up the audio a bit.”

Dongmin turned to him, startled. “What? No, let me play a better version for you. Somewhere quieter.”

“Really?”

“Let me help you. You said you wanted to create art. You made pepero for me. Let me play piano for you.” Dongmin turned his hand so their fingers were interlaced, and he squeezed Jinwoo’s hand. 

Jinwoo smiled, and Dongmin’s heart beat faster. 

Back at the apartment, they had to let go of each other’s hands to shrug out of their jackets and scarves. Dongmin turned and hung up their jackets on the pegs. 

Jinwoo said, “Do you want to know how I feel about you?”

Dongmin’s hands stilled. Then he turned to Jinwoo and said, “Tell me how you feel.”

Jinwoo said, “I love you.”

Dongmin’s pulse roared in his ears. 

“I know it’s so fast. I know it’s only been ten days. I know —”

“It’s okay,” Dongmin said. “It  _ is _ so fast. But I —” He swallowed hard. He was really going to do this. But he couldn’t deny it any longer. “I feel the same way.”

Jinwoo’s smile made Dongmin’s heart hurt, it was so happy and sweet. 

Then Jinwoo stepped closer, put his hands on Dongmin’s waist, and looked into his eyes. “May I kiss you?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Dongmin said. “What if our first kiss is terrible?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone before either,” Jinwoo said. “It’s okay if it’s terrible. That just means we need practice. Lots of practice.”

Dongmin’s heart was racing, because Jinwoo was standing close, and he was warm, but also he couldn’t help but laugh at Jinwoo’s cheeky grin.

“You can kiss me if you want,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo reached up and curled one hand around the back of Dongmin’s neck and said, “Trust me. I know what I want.” And he leaned in.

Dongmin closed his eyes, and — oh. 

On dramas, a first kiss was always just a firm press of the lips.

It looked like it would be warm and soft and comforting.

Jinwoo’s lips were warm and soft, but he was brushing his lips against Dongmin’s over and over again, as light as a feather, sending tingles down Dongmin’s spine, and Dongmin couldn’t help but kiss him back, and then Jinwoo parted his lips and Dongmin could  _ taste _ him and —

Dongmin crashed into the jackets with a gasp, and his eyes flew open.

“Sorry,” Jinwoo said, cradling him close. “Sorry, sorry. My processor mis-fired.”

“It’s fine,” Dongmin panted. “Um. I kind of lost my mind a little bit there. But I think that was, uh, pretty good.” He swallowed hard. “As far as first kisses go. Not that we couldn’t use some more practice, but —”

Jinwoo kissed him again, slow and deep and thorough, and Dongmin felt his knees go weak, but Jinwoo’s arm around his waist was strong and firm.

Eventually Dongmin had to pull back for air.

“Are you okay? Was I doing it wrong?” Jinwoo asked, looking earnest and concerned.

“Air,” Dongmin gasped. “Humans need to breathe.”

“Right.” Jinwoo ducked his head. “Sorry. Just — kissing feels really good in real life.”

“In real life?” Dongmin echoed.

“Yeah. Binnie shared a couple of his memory files with me so I wouldn’t do too badly on my first try, but it’s not the same as doing it myself,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin straightened up. “Bin did  _ what?” _

“It’s how persocoms learn from each other. We share memory files.”

“So Binnie has kissed...people? Other persocoms? And he just shared the memory with you?” Dongmin frowned. “But he and Myungjun —”

“Care about each other, but they don’t kiss,” Jinwoo said.

“So you, what, relived Binnie kissing other people?” Dongmin stared at Jinwoo, disconcerted.

“No. It’s more like — have you ever been on one of those virtual reality roller coaster rides? It’s not quite the same thing, but close enough. Binnie’s built differently from me, and he processes sensation differently from me, so it wasn’t like I was reliving his memory,” Jinwoo said.

“So you kissed me the way Binnie kisses other people?”

“No. I kissed you how I thought you might want to be kissed,” Jinwoo said. “How it thought might feel nice for you.”

Dongmin scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. Just. Sharing memories is something humans can’t do.”

“But if you liked someone and you wanted to kiss him, you might ask someone for advice, right? Someone who’d kissed someone else,” Jinwoo said.

“True,” Dongmin said. “Okay. Sorry. I just — you’re not human. Being a person and being  _ human _ are two different things, and that’s okay.”

Jinwoo peered at him. “But...you still love me?”

Dongmin sighed and gathered Jinwoo into his arms. “I still love you.”

Saying it aloud felt so strange, and so terrifying, but also so wonderful. Dongmin squeezed Jinwoo briefly, then pressed a kiss to his hair.

This was madness. If anyone found out, they’d think he was a weirdo like Sungmin at best, or that he’d lost his mind at worst. He might be committed to an institution, or get kicked out of school. He probably wouldn’t lose his job, because Madam Jeon would be understanding, but…

What would his family think?

Dongmin sighed and closed his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Jinwoo said. “I’ll take care of you.”

“We’ll take care of each other,” Dongmin said. There were some ways only he could protect Jinwoo, ways Jinwoo couldn’t protect himself, because in the eyes of the law, Jinwoo was just a  _ thing, _ a machine, undeserving of anything more than minimal protection from harm from others.

“We will,” Jinwoo said. He stepped back, peered up at Dongmin. “Now, you go study, and I’ll make dinner.”

Dongmin nodded. “All right.” But he didn’t move.

“You have to let me go if you want me to go make dinner,” Jinwoo said.

“But I like holding you.”

“You can hold me all night,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin’s eyes went wide. “Jinwoo-hyung! So scandalous!”

Jinwoo stepped back, tugged up the hem of his shirt suggestively, revealing smooth golden skin and a hint of muscle. “If you want scandalous —”

Dongmin felt his face flame. “Hyung! No. I don’t think I can handle that just yet. I’ll go study and wait for dinner.” And he scurried into the bedroom with his book bag, heart racing all over again.

Somehow, he managed to focus on his studies till dinner was ready, and then they chatted while he ate.

It was the same as every other night, but it didn’t feel the same, because they kept smiling at each other, and sometimes Jinwoo would pick up a piece of food with a pair of chopsticks and hold it out for Dongmin to try even though he wasn’t eating himself, and Dongmin couldn’t help but duck his head and blush at the affection.

“Minhyuk can rap,” Jinwoo said. “I thought about asking him to help with my song. He gets really bored during the day when Minseok is at school. He does some prep work at the restaurant for Madam Jeon, which helps out a lot, but I know he’s lonely and bored, so. I’m going to ask him. Where he won’t be in any of his old neighborhoods with his friends or his old school, I don’t think it’ll be a problem, but Madam Jeon might not like it. Where he’s not like an actual persocom, can’t help with any computing tasks around the house, I think he gets really bored, and there’s only so much dancing and taekwondo one boy can do.”

“Minhyuk’s really talented.”

“He can sing, too,” Jinwoo said, “but where Binnie and Myungjun and Sanha and you will all be my singers, I think I just want two rap voices instead. His voice is really different from mine, so.”

Dongmin nodded. He couldn’t imagine how boring it must be, for poor Minhyuk all day, trapped in the house while everyone else had somewhere to go and things to do. Would it have been better for him to be more like a persocom, so at least he could explore the internet? Or, where he was built so much like a person, would he have lost his mind, being too different from his former self?

No wonder Madam Jeon was such a tense woman. She was always worried about her sons.

“Whatever you need, I’ll do my best to help,” Dongmin said, and Jinwoo smiled.

After dinner, Dongmin continued studying, and Jinwoo washed up, and then he curled up beside Dongmin and chatted to Bin over instant messenger about his songwriting plans.

At the end of the night, Dongmin washed up, and then he and Jinwoo crawled into bed together. Instead of just holding hands, they snuggled up close, Dongmin wrapped around Jinwoo, the two of them warm and cosy under the covers.

“Sleep well,” Jinwoo said. 

“Rest well,” Dongmin murmured. He pressed a kiss to the back of Jinwoo’s neck, and he fell asleep easily.

* * *

The next morning, he was awakened by Jinwoo pressing feather-light kisses all over his face.

Dongmin opened his eyes and smiled up at Jinwoo, who smiled back at him.

“You know the best thing about you?” Dongmin said.

“What?” Jinwoo asked, kissing him on the mouth.

“No morning breath,” Dongmin said.

“I  _ can  _ smell things, you know,” Jinwoo said.

“Sorry,” Dongmin muttered, and went to roll out of bed, but Jinwoo just pulled him in for another kiss.

“Go do your workout, and then we’ll head to campus together.” Jinwoo winked and bounced off of the bed, headed over to the closet to pick out his outfit. “I’m picking your clothes too. We don’t have to wear a couple’s outfit, but we can at least look good together.”

Jinwoo had a really good personal fashion sense, so Dongmin trusted him.

“All right. Whatever you want.” Dongmin smiled and dragged himself out of bed. He had to wake himself up — and keep himself looking good for his boyfriend.

In the shower, hot water cascading over him, it really hit him.

He had a  _ boyfriend. _

And his boyfriend was a persocom.

And he didn’t even care, because he was happy.

Dongmin wondered if everyone could see how happy he was, but no one seemed to really notice. He and Jinwoo rode the bus to campus together, holding hands because they could, and no one noticed. They held hands as they headed to the lecture hall together, and no one noticed. They sat next to each other, and no one noticed. Dongmin smiled and waved goodbye when Jinwoo departed for his shift at the music shop, and no one noticed.

Dongmin was so happy, but no one noticed.

Jinwoo sent him messages throughout the day, checking in and saying hello and also  _ I miss you. _ Dongmin made sure to send plenty of selcas back. Jinwoo figured out how to take selcas using the shop window and started sending those back. Sometimes his coworkers would take pictures of him to use as well.

On Dongmin’s lunch break, he ate quickly, and then he hurried down to the music store to say hello.

There he met the famed guitarist Lee Shin, who was tall and handsome and looked like a rock star, who was playing a song on his acoustic guitar while Joonhee showed Jinwoo how to accompany him on a drum that looked like a rectangular box but was called a cajon.

Shin was polite and friendly. His girlfriend also worked at the store; she was a classical music major and played the gayageum, but she worked a different shift.

Joonhee handed Dongmin a flyer for their band’s next concert at a bar near campus and invited them to come and have fun. Dongmin said he usually worked weekends, but maybe on a weeknight they’d be able to go watch; Jinwoo said maybe they could bring Myungjun and Bin along.

Dongmin was happy to see Jinwoo, and happy that Jinwoo was making friends even though it was clear that both Shin and Joonhee thought of Jinwoo as a hyperintelligent pet rather than a person, but mostly Dongmin wanted a moment alone with Jinwoo so they could hold each other and kiss.

“See you after classes,” Dongmin said, when his lunch break was over. He reached out, squeezed Jinwoo’s hand, and then dashed back up to campus.

And so a pattern for his days was set.

He and Jinwoo rode to campus together. He went to lectures. He saw Jinwoo on his lunch break unless he absolutely had to study. He and Jinwoo rode home together. He studied while Jinwoo cooked. They had supper together. Jinwoo cuddled with him while he studied some more, and then they fell asleep together.

At study group and in lecture, Jinwoo was sweet and helpful and attentive. During exams, Jinwoo was silent and watchful, like any other persocom.

While Dongmin was studying, Jinwoo coaxed him into taking study breaks, which were usually make out sessions, the two of them sprawled across the bean bags, tangled up in each other, hands roaming, clothes more and more disheveled.

On the weekends, they hung out with Myungjun and Bin, and Dongmin worked, and Jinwoo hung out with Minhyuk, teaching Minhyuk how to rap in exchange for dance lessons.

And Dongmin was happy.

And Jinwoo was happy.

When Dongmin survived final exams and the winter break arrived, he was ecstatic.

“Do you even know what your grades are?” Jinwoo asked.

“I don’t even care,” Dongmin said, which was a lie, but he was so relieved that the final test was done that he just wanted to get back to his apartment and throw all his clothes into a suitcase and hop onto a bus to his parents’ house and not look back till the next semester began. 

“Don’t you have to care at least a little?” Jinwoo followed Dongmin away from the lecture hall where dozens of other students were stretching and wincing in the weak wintery sunlight as it filtered through icy clouds.

“I will when it comes time to sign up for next semester’s classes and I have to have passed the prerequisites for those classes,” Dongmin said. “But with the last of my exams behind me, we can go home and pack up a bunch of clothes and take a bus to my parents’ house and hang out and be pampered till the next semester.”

“Really?” Jinwoo asked.

“No, not really.” Dongmin sighed. “We can only go for four days, for Christmas. Then I need to work really, really hard over the break to save up money to get us going through next semester.”

“But you work at Madam Jeon’s,” Jinwoo said. “And I work at the music store.”

“Yes, and I will keep my job at Madam Jeon’s, but I also picked up an extra job,” Dongmin said. “I always work full-time during semester breaks. If I’m not studying, I’m working.”

Jinwoo hummed thoughtfully, following Dongmin to the bus stop. “Should I get a second job?”

“No,” Dongmin said. “You’re doing just fine with the one job, plus you keeping up the apartment is basically a whole second job. I appreciate it.”

“You’re just saying that because you want me to be happy and have fun while you work.” Jinwoo narrowed his eyes and plopped down on the bus shelter bench beside Dongmin.

Dongmin shrugged innocently. “Maybe. Is it wrong to want my hyung to be happy?”

“Well...you said you want me to be happy. And I’m allowed to have fun.” Jinwoo lifted his chin. “I want to have a sleepover at Myungjun’s house.”

“Okay. When should we plan to be there?” Dongmin fished his phone out of his pocket.

“Not you, just me, and Binnie, and Myungjun, and Sanha, and Minhyuk,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin stared at him. “What? Why?”

“So we can work on my song,” Jinwoo said. He wore an expression too innocent to be real. “We don’t leave for your parents’ place for a couple of days, right?”

Dongmin nodded slowly.

“Okay. I’ll message Binnie, and I’ll call Minhyuk. I bet we could do it tonight. It’s Friday. Minhyuk could just come with me to Binnie and Myungjun’s after the restaurant,” Jinwoo said.

“But don’t you also need my help for the song?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll get your part.”

“Okay,” Dongmin said. Then he leaned in and lowered his voice. “But you better give me all the kisses I won’t be getting tonight.”

Jinwoo’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t blush, but he had a certain expression on his face that Dongmin knew well, and if he were human, he would have been blushing. Dongmin straightened up and smirked.

When the bus arrived, they headed back to the apartment.

As soon as they were in the door, Jinwoo pounced on Dongmin and dragged him into the bedroom.

* * *

Madam Jeon had made Dongmin a little cake to celebrate his completing another semester at university, complete with a candle, which she presented at the end of the shift.

“Make a wish,” Minseok said.

“Ah, Chef, you really didn’t have to,” Dongmin said, but she just smiled at him, and Dongmin could see who Minhyuk had inherited his dimpled smile from.

“You’ve worked very hard this semester, Dongmin-ah,” she said and nudged the platter toward him. 

“You know I’ll still be working here over the break,” Dongmin said. 

Granny said, “Make a wish already.”

Jinwoo leaned over and said, “Put your hands together and make a wish.”

His breath tickled Dongmin’s ear, and Dongmin, who’d been about to do just that, started and blushed. 

“Hyung, don’t  _ do _ that!”

“Do what?” Jinwoo asked, the picture of innocence. 

Dongmin closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. 

“What are you going to wish for?” Changkyun asked. 

“If he says it aloud it won’t come true,  _ pabo,”  _ Minhyuk said. 

“Let him actually make the wish,” Madam Jeon scolded gently.

Dongmin wished hard.  _ Please let me and Jinwoo be happy together for a long time.  _

And then he opened his eyes and blew out the candle. 

The flame went out, and Granny and Jinwoo and Madam Jeon and Minhyuk cheered and applauded. The wick sparked and another flame sputtered to life, and Minseok and Changkyun burst out laughing. 

“Mineseokie, a trick candle? You bad boy!” Granny pinched his ear, and he yelped. 

Madam Jeon rolled her eyes and pinched out the candle properly. “Sorry, Dongmin-ah.”

“It’s all right. It was all in good fun. I know the cake will be delicious.” Dongmin smiled and scooped up the knife to cut a slice. The first slice went to Granny, of course. 

She insisted Minseok get his slice last, as punishment. Dongmin noticed Minhyuk staring longingly at the cake. 

“How does it taste?” Minhyuk asked without taking his eyes off of the slice on Dongmin’s plate. 

Dongmin took a bite. “Moist. Chocolate-y. Just the right balance of sweet and bitter. There’s a hint of something else in there I can’t quite describe.”

“Chili powder,” Minhyuk said softly, entranced. “It’s a South American thing my mother learned.” He actually licked his lips. “Tell me more?”

Dongmin are another bite and did his best to describe the flavor and texture and, upon request, the smell. When the slice was gone, Minhyuk scrubbed a hand across his face even though his eyes and face were complete dry — persocoms could not cry — and said,

“I miss my mother’s kimbap. She makes the best kimbap.”

Dongmin bit his lip and glanced at Granny, who had distracted Minseok from the entire affair. Madam Jeon looked heartbroken. Jinwoo wore an expression of sympathy but also puzzlement, because he’d never had food. 

Madam Jeon cleared her throat and said, “You boys better get going, before you miss your bus.”

“Have fun, hyung.” Minseok waved and smiled. 

Minhyuk followed Jinwoo and Dongmin to the door. Madam Jeon had agreed to let Minhyuk sleep over at Myungjun and Bin’s to help with Jinwoo’s song as long as he checked in regularly, and he could follow Jinwoo back to the restaurant the next day. 

At the door, they separated.

Jinwoo reached out, squeezed Dongmin’s hand, and then he said,

“See you tomorrow, Dongminnie. I’ll have you record your parts on Sunday.”

Dongmin nodded. “Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. And be good examples for Minhyuk.”

“Minhyuk is going to teach Binnie how to dance,” Jinwoo said.

Minhyuk inclined his head politely and said, “See you tomorrow, hyung.” He added, a little shyly, “Thanks for convincing my mom to let me go.”

Dongmin smiled. “Have fun. Be good, and maybe she’ll let you go again.”

Jinwoo and Minhyuk waved and headed for their bus stop, and Dongmin headed for his.

The ride home seemed to take forever.

Dongmin used his phone to listen to music to fill the silence of Jinwoo’s absence, but once he was finally lying alone in bed, in the middle where he used to sleep alone a mere month and a half ago, he felt terribly cold and alone, and his bed seemed massive, and his bedroom seemed dark and cavernous, and he couldn’t sleep.

He ended up watching the video of Jinwoo playing with the puppies at the pet store over and over again on YouTube (it had a ridiculous number of views by now), as well as some other videos of Jinwoo that had appeared on YouTube, of him playing the drums at the music store, and some that Dongmin just had on of his phone of Jinwoo and Minhyuk dancing.

Dongmin  _ missed _ Jinwoo.

He felt like a teenage girl in a drama, but he texted Jinwoo.

_ I miss you. _

He received a reply instantly.  _ I miss you too. _

_ Are you having lots of fun without me?  _ Dongmin pouted at his phone and wished he could see Jinwoo’s face.

_ I am having fun, and we are working hard on the song, but I also miss you, _ was Jinwoo’s response.

_ What are you doing right now? _ Dongmin asked.

_ Minhyuk is learning his part. I’m coaching him. _

Dongmin stared at his phone.  _ But you’re also messaging me? _

_ I can do both at the same time. Like when I cuddle with you and talk to Binnie. _

Dongmin could imagine Jinwoo’s deep, soothing voice.

_ Will I get to hear your song when it’s done?  _ Dongmin stared at his phone, but there were no three blinking dots that meant Jinwoo was typing a reply, because he didn’t have to type.

_ Yes. Don’t forget you have to record your part tomorrow. _

Dongmin smiled.  _ I’m excited. I’ll do my best. _

_ I’ll send you the portions of the guide track so you can practice if you want, _ Jinwoo said.

Dongmin nodded vigorously even though Jinwoo couldn’t see.  _ Please do! I want to do my very best. _

A moment later, Dongmin felt his phone buzz with an incoming alert.

Three tiny .mp3 files emailed from Jinwoo, two lines in the first, two lines in the second, a single line in the last.

Dongmin listened to them. Of course, Myungjun’s voice on the guide track was beautiful, but he was acapella.

Dongmin had no sense of where in the song his lines fell, though the melody was vaguely familiar from when he’d played the piano for Jinwoo all those weeks ago.

Dongmin had a sense that the song was a sad song. Why would Jinwoo write a sad song? Had Dongmin made him sad?

_ Greed overwhelms and becomes thorns _

_ I can’t breathe; I’m wounded _

Who had wounded Jinwoo? Was it Dongmin? 

_ The words I want to say _

_ The words I was going to say _

What words, Dongmin wondered?

_ Can you look at me one last time? _

Dongmin wondered why it was one last time.

But he listened to the lines over and over again, and he sang along to them, and eventually he fell asleep.

The next day, he dragged himself out of bed, and he went shopping by himself, and he cooked by himself, which was fine, because he didn’t have to study, and then he sat in the apartment and practiced his lines till his throat hurt, and then he panicked and made himself a lot of honey tea and drank it, and sometime around one in the afternoon Jinwoo and Minhyuk returned.

“How was it?” Dongmin asked, meeting them at the door.

He’d texted Jinwoo quite possibly a thousand times, and he thanked his lucky stars that Jinwoo was able to message back at the same time as he did other things, but once Jinwoo left Myungjun’s apartment he had no internet access, so he had to use Minhyuk’s phone to message, only Minhyuk had a small phone plan and had to save his messages to check in with his mother, so Dongmin went almost the entire bus ride from Myungjun’s apartment to his without any contact, so the fact that he met them just inside the door was understandable, or so he thought.

“It was good,” Jinwoo said. “Let me unpack and put my dirty clothes in the laundry and Minhyuk can settle in and —”

“I missed you,” Dongmin blurted out.

“I missed you too,” Jinwoo said kindly.

Dongmin stared at Jinwoo. Then he said to Minhyuk, who was halfway out of his sneakers, “Cover your eyes.”

Minhyuk blinked. “Pardon?”

“Do it,” Dongmin said.

Minhyuk eyed Dongmin, then said, “If you’re going to kiss him hello, it’s fine. I have seen people kissing before. Mom watches steamy dramas after Minseok goes to bed.”

Dongmin felt himself blush.

Minhyuk said, “I’m really the last person to judge you for loving a persocom, so.” But he finished toeing off his sneakers and then deliberately turned away to hang up his coat.

“I’ve missed you,” Dongmin said again, and pulled Jinwoo into a kiss.

Jinwoo made a startled noise, then kissed him back. “Mmm, I’ve missed you too,” he murmured against Dongmin’s mouth. “But we have to get to work before your shift starts at the restaurant.”

Dongmin nodded. “I’ve been practising.”

“Excellent.” Jinwoo smiled. “Let me play the guide track for you, at the section you need to hear, so you know when to hit your cue, all right?”

Dongmin nodded. “All right. It’s really that simple? I just...sing for you?”

Minhyuk knelt and unzipped his backpack, and he held up a box. “We have microphones.”

“While Minhyuk gets those set up, let me hear what you’ve got,” Jinwoo said.

Even though Dongmin had practiced plenty of times and was confident he was on key and sounded good, having Jinwoo right there, watching him and assessing him, was nerve-wracking. This song was Jinwoo’s art, his creation. Dongmin had to do his very best.

“Let’s hear your first part, the two lines,” Jinwoo said. 

Dongmin cleared his throat, straightened up, and sang.

Jinwoo looked pleased. “Excellent. And the second part?”

Dongmin sang again.

“Very good. And the third part?”

Dongmin gave it his all. 

“That third part is on the final chorus, so I’ll need you to give it some power, some heavier emotion, but that was really good.” Jinwoo smiled at Dongmin. “Drink some more honey tea, and I’ll help Minhyuk finish setting up.”

With the judicious application of some boards to form a little booth, the microphones connected to Jinwoo’s earports, and Jinwoo himself as the recording device, an impromptu studio was made.

“Just sing to me,” Jinwoo said gently. “I’ll handle the rest. Binnie gave me a copy of his music production software.”

Dongmin nodded. “All right.”

Minhyuk handed Dongmin a pair of headphones so Dongmin could hear himself and also the backing track and, if he so desired, the guide track so he’d know how to hit his cue.

Recording wasn’t easy. Figuring out how to hit his cue was hard, even with Myungjun’s voice on the backing track to guide him, but after half an hour of singing those three sections over and over again, Dongmin succeeded.

Jinwoo hugged him. “Thank you so much.”

“So can I hear it?” Dongmin asked.

“I need to do the final mix, maybe get some re-records on some of the instruments, and then it’ll be done,” Jinwoo said. 

“And then we should have a listening party,” Minhyuk said. “Maybe another sleepover at Myungjun-hyung’s place?”

“Oh, you two are hyung-dongsaeng already?” Dongmin asked.

Minhyuk framed his face with his hands and fluttered his eyelashes. “I’m his favorite dongsaeng.”

Dongmin feigned outrage. “That traitor! I’m his cousin. But yeah, that sounds like a lot of fun. I’m really excited to hear how it goes. Now come on, we have to get ready to go to work.”

* * *

Madam Jeon was waiting for them just inside the door, rather like Dongmin had been at the apartment.

“How was it?” she asked, gathering Minhyuk into her arms and smoothing a hand over his hair.

“It was fun,” he said, smiling up at her. “Thanks for letting me go, Mom.”

“Minhyuk was a very polite and respectful guest, and also very talented. When the song is finished, I’ll give you a copy. You’ll be proud of him,” Jinwoo said.

“Thank you for inviting him,” Madam Jeon said. “I’m glad he can have friends again besides Minseok and Changkyun.”

“I’ve written several more songs, so I’ll probably ask for his help again,” Jinwoo said.

Minhyuk wriggled out of his other’s embrace with familiar adolescent boy indignation. “Come on, Jinwoo-hyung. It’s time for dance lessons.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it later,” Madam Jeon said.

“I’ll change into my uniform and come learn the specials,” Dongmin said. He smiled at her, and she smiled at him, relieved and grateful and something else Dongmin couldn’t name but that he could understand, that he’d felt when he finally saw that Jinwoo was happy and doing things for himself.

The shift passed without a hitch, and Dongmin and Jinwoo headed home.

They woke early Monday morning, and they packed four days’ worth of clothing, and also all the presents they’d bought for Dongmin’s family — they’d deliver presents to Myungjun and Bin when they returned — and they caught a bus to Dongmin’s hometown, which was only twenty minutes south of the city.

Dongmin was excited to spend time with his family again, but also incredibly nervous, because he and Jinwoo wouldn’t be able to be openly affectionate with each other or sleep together, and Dongmin would miss Jinwoo despite being right next to him the entire time, but he also dreaded the thought of his family finding out about their relationship.

“Will you be all right?” Dongmin asked. He and Jinwoo were tucked against a window together, ostensibly huddled for warmth, because near the back the bus’s heaters weren’t very effective.

“Will  _ you?” _ Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin nodded. “Yeah. But it’ll be hard.”

“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Enjoy time with your family,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin’s family met them at the bus stop with the car. As soon as Dongmin jumped off the bus, he hugged his father, and then he helped Jinwoo down, as Jinwoo was carrying the suitcases on account of him being stronger.

“Appa, this is Jinwoo-hyung. Jinwoo, this is my father,” Dongmin said.

Appa cast Dongmin an odd look, but then he smiled and said, “So, this is who’s been taking care of our Dongminnie. Come on. Let’s get you home and warm.”

Appa popped open the trunk so Jinwoo could put the suitcases in, and Dongmin went around to the front passenger window to greet his mother.

She rolled down the window, and he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

“My darling Dongminnie! Welcome home! Now get in before you freeze to death.”

“Love you, Eomma,” he said

Dongmin let Jinwoo slide into the back seat first, then climbed in after him.

“Hyung!” Donghyun cried. He reached out and put a hand on Jinwoo’s chest.

Jinwoo blinked, startled.

“It really is a Jinjin Pro! You got so lucky,” Donghyun said. “Also, check this out.” He thrust a piece of paper at Dongmin.

“Hello to you too, brat,” Dongmin said.

Donghyun said, “Look, look! You promised.”

And Dongmin looked at the paper. It was Donghyun’s class rankings. He was in the top five percent.

“Congratulations,” Dongmin said. “You worked hard.”

“So, can I use your Jinjin Pro to play Call of Duty with my friends?” Donghyun asked. “You  _ promised.” _

“I did promise,” Dongmin said, but he bit his lip and looked at Jinwoo, because he’d promised before he’d really accepted that Jinwoo was a sentient person.

Eomma said, “Only for a few hours. Your hyung doesn’t get to come home very often, and Christmas is a time for family.”

“We’re not even Christian,” Donghyun protested.

“One day,” Appa said, “for no more than six hours.”

Donghyun leaned up between the front seats to try to negotiate while Appa was trying to pull away from the bus stop.

Dongmin leaned in and whispered to Jinwoo, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Jinwoo whispered back. “A promise is a promise, and besides, I’ve never played Call of Duty before.”

“Okay fine, six hours.” Donghyun flopped back in his seat. Then he turned to Dongmin. “Will you play with us, hyung?”

“You know I’m bad at video games,” Dongmin said, “but that’s okay. Jinwoo can play with you.”

“That’s cheating, isn’t it? If the computer plays,” Donghyun said.

“Not all persocoms are good at video games,” Jinwoo said. “Binnie is bad at video games.”

Donghyun blinked, startled. “It talks.”

“You know persocoms can talk. Hyerin talks,” Appa said reasonably.

“But it doesn’t talk like Hyerin does.” Donghyun squinted at Jinwoo.

“Because Hyerin is female and an older model,” Eomma said. She turned to look at Dongmin. “We’re so glad to have you home.”

Dongmin’s old room had been converted into a home office for his mother, who was working more hours now that one of her sons was grown, so Dongmin was staying in Donghyun’s room.

Donghyun was excited at the two of them sleeping together like they had when they were kids.

“We put an extra chair in the study so Jinwoo can charge next to Hyerin,” Appa said.

Dongmin wasn’t excited at the prospect of sleeping without Jinwoo, but he nodded and smiled.

“Where should I keep my suitcase?” Jinwoo asked.

Eomma blinked. “Oh, well —”

“He can keep it in the bedroom with mine,” Dongmin said. “He has his own clothes because we’re not the same size.”

Hyerin wore Eomma’s castoffs, but where she stayed seated in the office, she didn’t change clothes often, and when she did, she went into the bathroom.

“Did you have to buy him all new clothes?” Appa asked, frowning.

“No, Myungjun-hyung was kind enough to give us some of his old clothes. He’s about the same size as Jinwoo-hyung,” Dongmin said.

“You call him hyung?” Donghyun hooted. “How does it feel, being dongsaeng?”

“It’s nice, having someone look out for me,” Dongmin said. 

Eomma patted his shoulder. “I’m glad you have help.”

Jinwoo set his suitcase down in the bedroom, then opened it. “Where’s the Christmas tree? So I can put the presents underneath.” He gathered up the armful of presents.

“Dongminnie, you shouldn’t have. You should save your money,” Eomma said, but she looked pleased.

“The tree is this way.” Donghyun beckoned, and Jinwoo followed him.

Dongmin followed as well, because he wanted to see. This was the first year he hadn’t been around to help decorate it. 

“Wow. You brought so many presents,” Donghyun said, as Jinwoo knelt and arranged them under the tree.

“One for each of you, from each of us,” Jinwoo said.

Donghyun said, “You brought twelve presents?”

“Dongmin and I have presents for each other,” Jinwoo said, “and I also brought presents for your family.”

Donghyun raised his eyebrows.  _ “You _ brought presents for our family.”

Jinwoo nodded and smiled.

“But there’s only five of us.”

“Hyerin,” Jinwoo said. “Hyerin-ssi is in your family.”

Donghyun stared at him. “Right. Of course you would think that way. Well, thank you.”

“Can you show me how to connect to the wifi, please?” Jinwoo asked.

Donghyun nodded. “Sure. Come on downstairs, I’ll introduce you to Hyerin. You should meet one of your own kind, after all.”

Dongmin followed along, wary of a repeat of the incident with Changkyun, though there hadn’t been one despite Jinwoo connecting with other persocoms on multiple occasions.

After spending so much time with Jinwoo, Hyerin looked old and plastic and unnatural, utterly inhuman.

But she smiled and greeted Dongmin.

“Dongmin-ah, welcome home!”

As an older model, she probably wasn’t capable of creating art like Jinwoo was, but that didn’t mean Dongmin could consider her lesser than him.

“Thanks, Hyerin. This is Jinwoo-hyung. Can you please show him how to connect to the wifi?”

She smiled brightly at Jinwoo. “Sure thing.”

“Thank you, Hyerin-nim.” Jinwoo knelt beside her and held out his hand, and they connected.

A moment later, Jinwoo rose, and he said, “I’m connected. What now?”

“Dongmin, Donghyun, you boys relax. I’ll be making dinner,” Eomma said.

“Jinwoo-ssi, come play a drama for us,” Donghyun said.

“Please,” Dongmin said automatically.

Donghyun blinked at him, but he repeated obediently, “Jinwoo-ssi, please come play a drama for us.”

Jinwoo nodded. “Sure. Although, Eomoni, do you need help in the kitchen?”

She pressed a hand to her chest. “Me? Oh, it would be nice, but if the boys want to watch a drama —”

“If the monitor has bluetooth capability, I can stream a drama for them and help you at the same time.” Jinwoo smiled.

Eomma looked startled. “I’ve heard the newer models are powerful, but I didn’t realize that was possible.”

“The television isn’t bluetooth-capable,” Dongmin said, “but my tablet is. I can hook my tablet to the television, and we can go from there, right?”

“We can.” Jinwoo followed Dongmin and Donghyun to the den, and they set up the television.

It took Dongmin and Donghyun a bit to agree on a drama — they picked an action historical one, on account of Appa liking historical dramas and agreeing to watch with them — and once it was playing, Jinwoo followed Eomma into the kitchen.

“Do you have an apron I can wear? Okay. Let me wash my hands, and then I’ll do what you tell me to.”

Even though Dongmin’s entire apartment could have fit into three quarters of the first floor of his parents’ house, it had a very open floor plan, and he was nervous about Jinwoo being alone in the kitchen with his mother, not because he was afraid she’d mistreat him, but because he was afraid she’d notice something was different about Jinwoo and suspect that something was odd about his relationship with Dongmin.

But once lunch was ready, Jinwoo helped Eomma bring it to the table, and he sat down beside Dongmin, and no one really questioned his presence.

Eomma gushed about how helpful Jinwoo was in the kitchen. “He says he cooks for you, and that you prepare all your breakfasts and lunches in advance? He researches all the recipes and does the grocery shopping too.”

Dongmin nodded. “Yes. Thanks to Jinwoo I can dedicate my time to studying, and also on the weekends have some time to relax and hang out with Myungjun-hyung.”

“I’m so glad you have someone to help you and take care of you,” Eomma said. “The only thing better than your little Jinwoo would be a wife.”

Dongmin winced.

“Not till he’s done his service,” Appa said.

A couple of times Dongmin saw Jinwoo twitch for a pair of chopsticks so he could offer Dongmin a piece of food, but he didn’t follow through.

So Dongmin wasn’t the only one struggling.

After the meal, Jinwoo offered to wash up so Eomma could relax and watch dramas with the family. 

“I can figure out where everything goes after it’s dry,” Jinwoo said. “I do the washing up at home.”

Eomma looked hesitant.

Jinwoo laughed. “I see where Dongminnie gets it from. I promise I can do the washing up by myself. Tell her, Dongminnie.”

“He can, Eomma, but if you like, I can help him, show him where things go,” Dongmin said.

“But you’re here to visit,” she said.

“This is my home. I’m still part of this family and I can still do chores,” he said. “I know Hyerin was never able to do any of these things. I promise a bit of water won’t make Jinwoo malfunction.”

Eomma eyed Jinwoo some more. “All right.”

“Go relax with Appa and Donghyun,” Dongmin said. “You deserve to relax too. This is also your holiday.”

She finally caved and went to curl on the couch with Appa.

Dongmin followed Jinwoo into the kitchen.

“You know you can be with your family too,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin made sure the kitchen door was shut before he silenced Jinwoo’s protests with a kiss. Then he grabbed a sponge and said, “Let’s work fast.”

Once the dishes were done, Dongmin sat on the loveseat with Donghyun to watch the drama, and Jinwoo curled at his feet, gaze distant, probably talking to Bin.

Jinwoo helped Eomma cook supper that evening, and then he sat beside Dongmin and watched quietly while the family played cards.

“He stays close to you, like a loyal dog,” Appa said.

“In the apartment, it’s just us,” Dongmin said. “I’m used to having him around. Without him I get a little lonely.”

He winced at Appa comparing Jinwoo to a dog, but Jinwoo just grinned and mimicked a panting dog, and Eomma and Donghyun laughed.

“Call me Puppy Jinjin,” he said, and Appa laughed too.

“When Dongminnie finishes college and gets a job and a nicer apartment, I’m hoping he can get a dog,” Jinwoo said. “I love dogs.”

“Dogs probably don’t love you, though,” Appa said with a chuckle.

“Have you seen that one video of the persocom playing with the puppies though?” Donghyun asked. “It was a Jinjin Pro, just like Jinwoo.”

“That video  _ is _ Jinwoo,” Dongmin said.

“No way,” Donghyun said.

“Play the video and listen when the persocom says his name,” Dongmin said.

Everyone crowded around when Donghyun played the video on Dongmin’s tablet.

“That really is you.” Appa eyed Jinwoo, who nodded and beamed.

“I always thought children begging for a puppy would be bad enough,” Eomma said. “But a world where persocoms can also beg for puppies. Who knew.”

That night, Dongmin washed up for bed, and then Jinwoo changed into his pajamas before he went to sit beside Hyerin in the study.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Dongmin asked. He tucked a blanket over Jinwoo’s legs.

“I’ll be fine,” Jinwoo said. “Will  _ you _ be all right?”

“I’m having deja vu,” Dongmin muttered. “I’ll be fine.” He darted a glance over his shoulder to check that the coast was clear, and then he pressed a kiss to Jinwoo’s forehead before he returned to Donghyun’s room.

They sprawled on the bed together, and Donghyun turned out the light, and he was asleep fast.

Dongmin was not.

* * *

“Dongminnie, what’s wrong?” Eomma asked. “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just not used to sleeping here anymore, so it was hard to fall asleep.” Dongmin shrugged, covered a yawn with one hand.

“Well, take a nap sometime today,” Eomma said.

Dongmin did, head on Jinwoo’s lap while Donghyun borrowed Jinwoo for his video game marathon.

He felt his father looking at him strangely, but he brushed it off.

Being home, away from the stress of school and work, was amazing, and Dongmin was happy for it. He and Donghyun had a snowball fight in the yard, and they — and Jinwoo — helped clear snow off their elderly neighbor’s driveway, and the whole family (minus Jinwoo) walked around downtown to look at all the lights (Dongmin made sure to take plenty of pictures under cover of wanting to send them to Myungjun).

Dongmin and Jinwoo were discreet, only sneaked little kisses when they were sure they were alone.

Donghyun was the one who woke everyone early on Christmas Day like he was a little kid still, and everyone gathered around the tree to open presents.

“What’s this?” Eomma asked. “A present for me from Jinwoo?”

“Ah, yes. He has a job,” Dongmin asked. “Technically any money he makes goes to me, since I’m his owner, and he helps pay the bills, but he also wanted to buy you all presents.”

“Oh.” Eomma looked nervous as she unwrapped the gift, but it was a lovely and fashionable scarf. “Oh! Thank you, Jinwoo-ssi.”

“He’s much more fashionable than me,” Dongmin said.

Dongmin had brought his mother some recipes from Madam Jeon that she’d been willing to part with, written prettily on recipe cards in a bright tin, and Eomma was very excited to have award-winning recipes. Jinwoo had bought a nice tie for Appa, and a video game accessory for Donghyun. Dongmin had bought Appa a watch and a small refurbished tablet for Donghyun to use at school.

For Hyerin, Jinwoo had bought some parts so she could run a bit faster and stay a bit cooler, internally.

“So she doesn’t overheat,” he explained to Appa. “I researched what kind of model she is and some of the problems her model faces at her age.”

Appa looked a little flummoxed, but he smiled and said, “Thank you.”

Dongmin had bought Hyerin a lap blanket; since she was sitting all the time, she might as well sit comfortably.

“What did you two get each other?” Eomma asked.

Dongmin handed Jinwoo a wrapped box. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you, Dongminnie.” Jinwoo unwrapped it carefully. It was a lovely leatherbound journal full of staff paper, just for writing music.

“That’s nice,” Eomma said, clearly confused.

Jinwoo handed Dongmin a slender wrapped package. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks, hyung.” Dongmin unwrapped it carefully, and it was a CD.

“Is it some kind of fancy software upgrade?” Appa asked.

Donghyun made a scornful noise. “No one uses CDs for that anymore. Persocoms don’t even have built-in CD drives these days.”

Dongmin studied the cover, which read  _ Bloom _ and featured an artistic photograph of an orange flower. Then he realized. “Is this it?”

Jinwoo nodded. “This is it.”

“What is it?” Eomma asked. 

“A song Jinwoo wrote.” Dongmin said, “We still have a CD player, right? Can I hear it?”

Appa and Donghyun both looked dubious, but Eomma nodded and brought the battered CD player from the kitchen that she used mostly to listen to the radio.

Dongmin opened the CD case and lifted out the CD, which was decorated with the flower as well — he recognized Myungjun’s calligraphy for the title now — and placed it in the CD player, closed the lid, and pressed play.

The song opened with gentle strings, which swelled dramatically, like something off a movie soundtrack, then mellowed down to an acoustic guitar and a voice Dongmin didn’t recognize. That must have been Sanha.

And then Dongmin heard his own voice.

“Oh!” Eomma cried. “Dongminnie, that’s you!”

“And Cousin Myungjun?” Donghyun asked.

“They all helped with recording the song,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin recognized the lyrics for the chorus, which was sung by Bin and then the boy who was probably Sanha. 

Dongmin heard his own piano part in the mix, and also an electric guitar. Lee Shin, perhaps? Was that Jinwoo on the drums, or Joonhee?

And then he heard Minhyuk’s voice on the rap part that was surprisingly melodic, and then Jinwoo’s voice, deep and emotional, and then Dongmin on the chorus, and the song swelled and built, with soaring notes from Bin and Myungjun, and a group harmony at the end before the sound tapered down to just Bin, some acoustic guitar, and gentle strings.

“What do you think?” Jinwoo asked.

Dongmin swept him into a hug, eyes filled with tears, his heart fit to burst. “It’s beautiful. You did so well.”

Appa stared at Jinwoo.  _ “You _ wrote that?”

“Myungjun-hyung and I wrote it together,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin pulled back. “I talked to Myungjun-hyung, and he said he had a basic melody and a handful of lyrics, and he passed them off to Jinwoo and Jinwoo did the rest.” He smiled and brushed a strand of hair out of Jinwoo’s eyes. “It sounds amazing.”

“You sounded really good,” Eomma said. “I didn’t know you could sing so well.”

“Cousin Myungjun sounded really good too,” Donghyun said. “You sounded like an idol group! Who else was there?”

“One of Myungjun’s coworkers, named Sanha,” Jinwoo said. “Binnie.”

“Bin?” Donghyun asked. “As in Myungjun’s persocom?”

Jinwoo nodded.

Appa eyed Jinwoo. “One of the rappers was you, yes? Or at least his voice was very similar to yours.”

“Yes, that was me.”

“Who was the other rapper?” Eomma asked.

“Another persocom, who is at the restaurant where I work,” Dongmin said. “He and Jinwoo hang out while I’m waiting tables.”

“I didn’t realize a persocom could —” Appa blinked and looked discomfited.

“Most can’t,” Dongmin said. “Jinwoo-hyung is special.”

Now that all the presents were open, they had to clean up the wrapping paper. Jinwoo helped Appa clean up, and then he helped Eomma make breakfast.

After that, Dongmin noticed that Jinwoo was included more in conversations at meals, and he played card games with them after supper, and when they went on a walk through the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights, he came along.

While everyone else was getting ready for bed, Dongmin went to tuck Jinwoo into his chair beside Hyerin in the study.

“Merry Christmas,” Dongmin said. “Your first Christmas. How do you feel?”

Jinwoo pressed a hand to his chest. “My heart feels like it’s going to burst because I’m so happy.”

Dongmin smiled. “Me too.” He darted a glance over his shoulder, then whispered, “Love you,” kissed Jinwoo on the cheek, and headed for bed.

“Hyung?” Donghyun asked as Dongmin settled under the covers.

“Yes?”

“When you’re doing your service, can I have Jinwoo? You can’t take him with you anyway,” Donghyun said.

The warm, happy feeling in Dongmin’s chest was doused in a splash of icy reality.

“I won’t enlist for another year. We’ll see then,” Dongmin said. He closed his eyes and rolled onto his side.

* * *

The next day, Dongmin and Jinwoo had to pack up their clothes and return to the city so Dongmin could go back to work at the restaurant, and then start his new job, which was also working at the music shop with Jinwoo, since he was a pianist and knew music pretty well.

Being together every day was going to be amazing, and Dongmin couldn’t wait.

Appa drove them to the bus stop, and Dongmin promised to call and text often, and then they were back on the bus and to the city.

Dongmin listened to Bloom on loop.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “But so sad. Why did you write such a sad song? I didn’t make you sad, did I?”

“No,” Jinwoo said. “But I wanted to try capturing a feeling I’d only imagined. And Myungjun helped me a lot. I have other songs I’ve written on my own that I’d like to try. Now that I know singers and rappers and musicians, I think it’ll be faster to get another song fully recorded and produced.”

Dongmin turned to him and smiled. “So you think this is it? Your art? Songwriting?”

Jinwoo nodded and smiled. “Yeah, it is. Thank you for helping me.”

“Any time.” Dongmin closed his eyes and rested his head on Jinwoo’s shoulder and listened to Bloom some more and wondered what Jinwoo’s other songs would sound like.

For all that Dongmin had offered his help, though, Jinwoo was cryptic about them. If he asked for help with them, it was for Myungjun to sing the guide track, or Sanha or Shin to play a guitar part, or Joonhee to help make a beat for him.

But working together was wonderful. They could ride the bus together to work every day, and then they were around each other all day, though Dongmin interacted with customers more directly, Jinwoo on hand to do demos on the drums or fetch and carry while Dongmin handled orders and payments.

The other staff at the shop were kind and friendly, and Dongmin liked working there. On his lunch break, he’d eat his packed lunch as quickly as possible, and then he’d play piano for Jinwoo, which was the only contribution he was allowed to make to Jinwoo’s music besides a few stray vocal parts.

In the evenings, because Dongmin had no homework, after supper they could do fun things. Where they were on a limited budget, they’d stay in and watch movies or dramas, or they’d go window-shopping and dream of things to buy.

One time Dongmin did splurge and take Jinwoo to a puppy café. The hostess at the door balked at the sight of a persocom, but when a puppy came up to Jinwoo and greeted him, she let them both in, and she even took some video footage of Jinwoo playing with the puppies to post on the café’s website to prove that her puppies were the friendliest ever.

Dongmin took a thousand pictures on his phone and spammed Myungjun with them.

After, they headed home hand-in-hand, bundled up against the cold. Dongmin wouldn’t get to go home again till Seollal, and it would only get colder till then, he was sure.

“Did you have fun?” Dongmin asked.

Jinwoo nodded. “This was just like Christmas.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m so happy that my heart hurts.”

Dongmin squeezed his hand. “Me too. I’m glad you’re happy.” And he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Jinwoo’s cheek. 

A man said, “Wow, what a freak.”

Dongmin pulled away, face flaming.

Jinwoo swung around, pulling Dongmin behind him. “Shut up.”

“Did a persocom just tell me to shut up?” the man said, and Dongmin’s throat closed.

He knew that voice.

Song Taeil, from his history class last semester.

Taeil knew him too. “I should have known. Lee Dongmin, who thinks persocoms are real people. You’re worse than Sungmin, who at least knew his persocom was a glorified sex doll.”

“Leave him alone,” Jinwoo said. 

Taeil laughed. “Or what?” He shoved Jinwoo. “You’re gonna fight me? If you do, your owner will just get into trouble.”

“Will he?” Jinwoo asked. “Or will you be found liable for bringing harm upon yourself by instigating violence against a human who was then defended by a persocom who was just responding to his programming?”

_ “Heol, _ he sounds just like a law student. You really did make everyone and everything crazy,” Taeil said. He rolled his shoulder and cocked his fist. “If I break your plastic face, it’s barely a crime.” And he struck.

Dongmin didn’t even think, tugged Jinwoo out of the way.

The punch connected with the side of Dongmin’s head, and he saw stars, and then he was on the ground.

“Dongminnie!” Jinwoo dropped to his knees beside Dongmin. “Are you all right?”

“Taeil,” another man said. “You just hit a human. That  _ is _ a crime. We should go.”

A woman said, “I’m calling the police. This man was just assaulted.”

“Dongminnie, talk to me.” Jinwoo’s voice was shaking.

Taeil laughed. “Look at that. The plastic toy is concerned about his freak owner.”

Dongmin pushed himself up, tried to clear his head. He blinked at Jinwoo till the three images of Jinwoo resolved into one. “Hey, I’m okay. It’s fine. Don’t cry.” He reached up and brushed the tears off of Jinwoo’s face.

Jinwoo had one hand pressed to his chest and was hiccupping with sobs, tears streaming down his face. “Dongminnie, he hurt you.”

“Not a lot,” Dongmin said. “I’m really okay, I promise. You don’t have to cry.” But his head was throbbing, and his ears were ringing.

Someone said, “Taeil, he’s crying. He’s not really a persocom. He’s a human being.”

“Look at his earports,” Taeil said. “Obviously he’s not human.”

“But he’s crying, and persocoms can’t cry,” someone else said. 

“Dongminnie,” Jinwoo said, “I hurt when you hurt. I love you.”

Dongmin stroked Jinwoo’s hair back from his face. “I know. Hyung, I’m fine.” 

Jinwoo was still crying.

“Aigoo, who knew you’d be such a crybaby,” Dongmin said, and he wrapped his arms around JInwoo. Then he glared up at Taeil. “Are you happy, you homophobic ass?”

Taeil looked disconcerted. “But he —  _ look _ at him! He’s not human!”

Jinwoo said, “Dongminnie, I hurt when you hurt. I love you.”

Dongmin frowned and peered at Jinwoo. Tears were still running down his face, but his gaze was blank. “Jinwoo-hyung?”

And then Jinwoo’s eyes fluttered closed, and he sank against Dongmin, lifeless.

“He fainted!” 

“Someone call 119!”

Dongmin panicked and shook him. “Jinwoo!”

There was no response.

Dongmin popped open Jinwoo’s earport and pressed the power button to reboot him, but nothing happened.

“See?” Taeil cried. “He’s not human!”

Dongmin pressed a hand to Jinwoo’s forehead. He was burning up. But that was impossible, because persocoms didn’t get fevers.

But they also couldn’t cry.

Dongmin fumbled his phone out of his pocket and called Myungjun. 

“What’s up, cousin?” Myungjun asked.

“Help me. I think Jinwoo’s sick.”

“Sick? As in he has a virus?”

“As in he started crying and fainted!”

“Dongminnie, persocoms can’t —”

“Help me!”

“Where are you?”

“I’ll send you my location.” Dongmin tapped at his phone.

There was a pause, then Myungjun said, “I’ll send an Uber. It’ll be there in under five minutes. Dongmin, persocoms can’t cry.”

“He was crying,” Dongmin said. 

“Dammit. I’ll call for backup.” Myungjun hung up.

Dongmin cradled Jinwoo close, smoothing the tears off of his face. Even while Jinwoo was unconscious, the tears kept falling. Dongmin scooped him up and pushed past the crowd of gawkers, including Taeil, and stood at the curb.

A car with an Uber sticker in the back window pulled over, and a woman rolled the window down.

“Lee Dongmin?”

“Here,” he said.

“Hop in.”

* * *

The entire drive, Dongmin kept his arms wrapped around Jinwoo, who was too warm. Should Dongmin take Jinwoo’s winter gear off? But if he was losing heat rapidly, then Dongmin should keep him insulated, right? Dongmin searched on his phone, but everything he found was that persocoms couldn’t cry. It wasn’t built into them.

Binnie was there to meet Dongmin at the gate, and he helped carry Jinwoo up into Myungjun’s apartment, where Madam Jeon and Minhyuk were waiting.

“Put him on the bed and make him comfortable,” Madam Jeon said.

“What are they doing here?” Dongmin asked. “No offense, but you’re a chef.”

He lay Jinwoo on the bed and peeled him out of his scarf and gloves and coat.

“A chef whose son has been preserved in the form of a unique and specially designed persocom, possibly similar to your own,” Madam Jeon said. “I thought maybe if Myungjun had a look at Minhyuk it might give him some insight into what happened with Jinwoo.”

“He really is crying,” Myungjun said. “But that’s impossible.”

Binnie reached out and wiped away one of Jinwoo’s tears — and then tasted it.

“Not tears. Coolant. He’s overheating and leaking coolant.”

“Did he say anything before he fainted?” Myungjun asked. He was already connected to Jinwoo with a keyboard and a monitor, tapping away. “Yeah, he’s bluescreened. Until he cools down, there’s nothing I can do.”

“He said he hurts when I hurt and he loves me,” Dongmin said.

“Out of nowhere?” Myungjun asked.

“Well, no, a guy punched me in the head,” Dongmin said.

Madam Jeon’s eyes went wide. “What? Let me see.” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Dongmin said.

“Did you call the police?” Madam Jeon asked.

Dongmin bit his lip. “He was an old classmate of mine. I wasn’t careful. Jinwoo and I were walking, and I kissed Jinwoo on the cheek, and my old classmate saw me, and —”

Madam Jeon nodded grimly. “Prejudice.”

“Has Jinwoo mentioned being in pain previously?” Bin asked. “He wouldn’t overheat like this out of nowhere.”

Minhyuk stood beside the bed, staring down at Jinwoo blankly.

“Well, he’s mentioned a couple of times that he’s so happy his heart hurts, but —”

“Persocoms don’t have hearts,” Bin said.

Minhyuk pressed a hand to his chest.

“I figured he meant it metaphorically,” Dongmin said. 

Minhyuk said, “We have processing cores in our chest, right where a human heart would be. It’s sort of symbolic.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

Minhyuk said, “If you’re really quiet and still, you can feel it whirring sometimes. Mom likes to know it’s still working. After my real heart stopped working.”

Madam Jeon bit her lip.

Dongmin thought of the way Jinwoo would press his hand to his chest and said, “Maybe his processing core was overheating and he didn’t realize it, and he thought — he thought it was an emotion he was feeling.”

Myungjun said, “This is way above my skill level.”

Dongmin felt like he was going to start crying. “Then will Jinwoo never wake up?”

“We should cool him down,” Binnie said. “Open him up and refill his coolant. That’s a starting point. But until we figure out why he overheated and fix that, we’ll keep on ending up here, but who knows what permanent damage is being done while he’s in this state. It’s the persocom equivalent of a very bad fever.”

“How do we figure out why he overheated?” Dongmin asked.

“Can’t till he’s cooled down,” Myungjun said. He nodded to Madam Jeon and Minhyuk. “Thank you for your willingness to help. You might as well go back home. We’ll call you once we’ve got Jinwoo’s fever down, as it were.”

Madam Jeon nodded. “Of course. Let us know if there’s anything else we can do, or any change. Come on, Minhyuk.” She started for the door.

Minhyuk patted Jinwoo’s hand. “Wake up soon, hyung. We have to finish your song.” And then he followed his mother out of the apartment.

Dongmin sank down on the edge of the bed beside Jinwoo. “They told me he had some kind of factory flaw that made him unsaleable, so that was why he was ineligible for a warranty. I never bothered to find out what it was. I should have let you tinker with him. I —”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Myungjun said. “And Jinwoo let me run diagnostics on him, and I didn’t find anything wrong.”

“He did? When? Why?” Dongmin asked.

“At first, to try to find that factory flaw. But then, recently, he was having trouble with his dexterity. Dropping things. In retrospect, that was probably a result of him overheating.” Myungjun sighed. “Persocoms don’t drop things.”

“But persocoms also can’t pet puppies or sing or dance or write beautiful music,” Dongmin said softly.

Myungjun nodded.

“Official Fantagio service and repair channels are pointless then,” Bin said.

Dongmin buried his face in his hands. “What do we do?”

“What Bin said. Cool him down and refill his coolant. I’ll pop him open. Bin, go get my screwdrivers.”

Dongmin pushed himself to his feet. “I can’t watch this.”

Myungjun nodded sympathetically. “Go stay on the couch.”

Dongmin shuffled out to Myungjun’s plush leather couch and plopped down, closed his eyes. 

His head ached, so he poked in Myungjun’s medicine cabinet for some aspirin, took a couple of pills with water, and then dozed on the couch. Bin and Myungjun bustled in the background, talking softly. Bin ducked out to buy some internal coolant. Dongmin must have fallen asleep before he returned.

When he woke, Jinwoo was awake, sitting up in Myungjun’s bed, shirtless and looking utterly untouched but for a few grease smears on his chest, probably from where he’d been opened up.

Dongmin scrambled to his side. “Hyung, are you all right?”

“I’m okay,” Jinwoo said. “Don’t be sad. I’m sad when you’re sad.”

“How long has this been going on?” Dongmin asked. “Your hands shaking. Your heart hurting.”

“My heart always hurts a little bit when I look at you and think of how much I love you.” Jinwoo smiled.

“Don’t tease, please. We’re trying to help you.”

“I’m serious. But then that’s love, isn’t it? Loving someone so much it hurts.”

“I don’t want you to hurt because of me,” Dongmin said.

“It doesn’t hurt a lot,” Jinwoo said. He guided Dongmin’s hand to his chest. “Can you feel my heart racing?”

Dongmin closed his eyes, and yes — he could feel, ever so faintly, the whir of Jinwoo’s central processing core.

“Are you hurting because you love me?” Dongmin asked. He opened his eyes.

Jinwoo shook his head. “No. I’m happy because I love you.”

Dongmin nodded. “I love you too.”

Jinwoo smiled, and Dongmin felt his chest tighten.

Bin arrived with more coolant, and Dongmin stepped out of the room.

Myungjun had heavy shadows around his eyes and had drunk half a dozen iced americanos from the café down the street.

He said, “I can’t figure out what’s going on with him. Binnie’s a Fantagio model, so I’m used to their code, but Jinwoo doesn’t have standard Fantagio code. He’s a custom job in a Fantagio shell, and his code is heavily encrypted. Heavily. In fact, it looks a lot like Minhyuk’s code from the one time Minhyuk let me look at it during a sleepover.”

“But I won him from a Fantagio store. He was  _ in the window _ of the Fantagio outlet near campus. Our picture was on the website,” Dongmin said.

“Well, he’s not really a Fantagio Jinjin Pro. He’s something else,” Myungjun said. “All I know is he’s going to overheat and pass out again unless we figure out what’s going on. We’ll do our best to keep his temperature down and keep him supplied with coolant, but he has to take it easy. You’ll have to call him in sick to work.”

Dongmin nodded. “Of course.” And then he said, “You looked at Minhyuk’s code?”

“He let me once. I know it was deeply uncomfortable for him, but I think he was curious too.”

“And you say he’s a custom job?” 

Myungjun nodded.

Dongmin fished his wallet out of his pocket and poked around for the business card he’d never thrown away, that he hadn’t thought about in ages.

Professor Hong Baekkyun, from Santa Maria Engineering, who’d wanted to buy Dongmin’s likeness to use on persocoms.

And he dialed.

* * *

Hong Baekkyun stood in Myungjun’s apartment and stared at Jinwoo.

“You want me to fix your unwarrantied Jinjin Pro in exchange for me being able to use your face for persocoms?” he asked.

Myungjun cast Dongmin a look.

Dongmin ignored him and nodded at Professor Hong. “Yes. But he’s not a regular Jinjin Pro.”

“He’s not,” Myungjun said. He held out his tablet. “Check out his code.”

Professor Hong scrolled through the rows upon rows of code with dexterous flicks of his fingers. “Indeed he is not. But this is all very heavily encrypted. We risk triggering some kind of security measure that could wipe his code completely if we try to hack it. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. But if you want good money, your face is worth it.”

Dongmin said, “I want someone to save Jinwoo.”

Jinwoo was in standby mode so he was using as little energy as possible — and risking overheating as little as possible.

Professor Hong shrugged and swept out of the apartment.

Bin said, “Even if Jinwoo’s not an official Fantagio model, maybe Fantagio isn’t totally useless.”

“How?” Dongmin threw his hands up.

“You said Sanha signed you up for the sweepstakes and delivered him to your apartment, right?” Bin said. “Sanha had to have gotten Jinwoo from somewhere. Maybe he knows something.”

Myungjun fished his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call him.”

“He got Jinwoo from the storage room at the store,” Dongmin said. “Jinwoo remembers being there. And he remembers being on display in the window at the store. That was where we first saw each other.”

Myungjun said, “Sanha’s on his way.”

Dongmin remembered Sanha as a tall, skinny boy with narrow shoulders, curly hair, and braces, a poor high-schooler shivering in the biting autumn chill.

When Sanha arrived on the doorstep, he was wearing slacks and a dark turtleneck and looked — adult. Professional.

“Jinwoo’s overheating, you say?” He toed off his shoes and strode straight into the bedroom, stood beside the bed.

His expression was solemn, regretful.

“He was leaking coolant,” Bin said. “It looked like tears.”

“Ah, I’d heard rumors a couple of days ago, about a persocom who cried.” Sanha looked at Myungjun. “Have you looked at his code?”

Myungjun tossed his tablet down on the corner of the bed. “It’s not worth much. It’s heavily encrypted.”

Sanha scooped up the tablet, scanned it. “You have a keyboard I can borrow?”

“You?” Dongmin asked.

Bin handed Sanha a keyboard.

Sanha popped open one of Jinwoo’s earports and connected the keyboard, then powered Jinwoo up.

Jinwoo opened his eyes and sat up, smiled.

“Hey, Dongminnie. Myungjun-hyung. Binnie.” His smile dimmed when he saw Sanha. “Seonsaengnim.”

Myungjun blinked. “Not Sanha-ya?”

“Not today,” Sanha said, and typed rapidly.

Dongmin saw the lines of code on the tablet flicker, and suddenly they looked different. More readable. He looked at Sanha. 

“You?”

“Me.”

“But — you’re in high school...aren’t you?” Dongmin said.

And then Myungjun said, “You’re him, aren’t you? Captain Ddana?”

“Who?” Dongmin asked.

“A famous hacker and programmer,” Bin said, eyeing Sanha coolly, “who believes persocoms are people and can feel real emotions. He said he had a persocom to prove it.”

“My poor Jinjin. What have they been doing to you?” Sanha frowned and typed some more.

“But you said he was an all-new Jinjin Pro,” Dongmin said.

“Well, he sort of is. At least his face is, and he can make pepero,” Sanha said. “But he’s my custom job. The higher-ups at Fantagio gave me hell when I started my experiment, but when I finished it — they wanted to keep it. So I thought I’d cut it loose, send it out into the world to roam and be free.”

“Not it. He,” Dongmin said, voice shaking with fury and disbelief. “His name is Jinwoo.”

“You taking good care of him gave him the push he needed for the experiment to really flourish,” Sanha said.

“I don’t care about your experiment,” Dongmin said. “Can you fix him?”

Sanha stared at the tablet. “No.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Jinwoo asked. “Seonsaengnim?”

Sanha sighed and set the tablet aside. “You remember I gave you special code, so you could feel human emotions?”

Jinwoo nodded. “Yes. I feel real emotions.”

“I know. I taught you how.” Sanha’s smile was terribly sad. “I didn’t program you with  _ all _ emotions, though. I let you learn some on your own. Like love. And I can see from your code that you did learn love, but...persocoms aren’t made to love. Your core can’t handle it. It’s overworking and overheating. Loving is killing you.”

“As long as it’s not killing Dongminnie,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin’s throat closed. He couldn’t speak. No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. The robot was supposed to outlive his human lover. That was always how these stories ended.

“The only way for you to live on is for you to stop loving Dongmin,” Sanha said.

Jinwoo sat back. “You know I can’t do that. People can’t just turn their feelings on and off.”

“I know,” Sanha said.

Jinwoo smiled at Dongmin and said, “Dongminnie, I love you.”

Dongmin let out a sob and bolted from the room.

Myungjun closed the door and followed him. “Hey.”

“He loves me, and it’s killing him. I can’t let him die!”

“But it’s his choice,” Myungjun said.

Dongmin scrubbed a hand over his face. It was hard to breathe. “Humans can’t turn their feelings off. But he’s not human. What if he was reset? If his memories of me were erased? So he never fell in love with me. Then he’d be fine.”

Myungjun stared at him. “You’d still be killing him, wiping out the memories that have helped him form his personality, make his music. And who the hell are  _ you _ to decide to do that to him, anyway?”

“His —” Dongmin hiccuped. “His owner.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“But it could save him!”

Myungjun sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You heard Sanha. Jinwoo learned how to fall in love once. He can learn how to do it again, and then he’d be in the same place.”

“But Sanha would have time to figure out how to cure him, stop his processor from overheating,” Dongmin said.

The bedroom door opened, and Dongmin cut himself off.

Sanha said, “There is no processor that exists that can handle the work being in love demands from it. Not yet. Maybe in a few years, but Jinwoo won’t survive that long. Repeated overheatings will fry him permanently even if we wipe him and reset him.”

“Then what do we do?” Dongmin asked. “Why would you do such an experiment?”

“For persocoms like Minhyuk,” Sanha said quietly. “So they can have real emotion. Not only will people pay top dollar for that, but people who need real love and otherwise can’t have it — like an immunocompromised child who’s forced to live in a bubble — will have the emotional connection they need. Babies in orphanages who can’t get any real care from humans can get it from persocoms who can work round the clock.”

Dongmin buried his face in his hands.

“What about Jinwoo?” Myungjun asked.

“I need to preserve his code,” Sanha said, “for future experiments. Refine it, so future iterations don’t cause persocoms to have core meltdowns.”

“That’s his code,” Dongmin said, lifting his head. “What about  _ him?” _

“All you can do is make him comfortable till the end,” Sanha said, “and love him.”

Dongmin started to cry.

* * *

No one knew how long Jinwoo had left, not even Jinwoo.

So they all did their best to take care of him.

He didn’t have to be confined to bed, and when he went out and about, it was without a coat so he could keep his temperature down, though people stared when he strolled by in jeans and a t-shirt.

Dongmin wanted to quit work at the music store, but Jinwoo insisted they keep on working.

“You’ll need to live on after I’m gone, and you’ll need the money,” Jinwoo said. “Besides, I want to make music before I go.”

Dongmin nearly broke down crying again, but instead he called the shop and let them know he was feeling better and Jinwoo no longer had to take care of him, and they were back to work as usual.

Only Madam Jeon and Minhyuk knew what was really going on, and she gave Dongmin a leave of absence from the restaurant, promised he’d have his job after if he wanted it.

“But I’ll understand,” she said. “If the memories here are too much.”

Dongmin and Jinwoo worked at the music shop, and they hung out with Minhyuk and Myungjun and Bin, and they spent a lot of time at the puppy café. At night, Dongmin kissed Jinwoo and held him tightly, terrified that when he woke up, Jinwoo would be gone.

Jinwoo spent his spare moments writing in his song journal, and recording with the others, and Dongmin did his best to help, even picked up his old violin and flute from home one weekend to contribute.

Dongmin kept an eye out for any signs of Jinwoo overheating, any lapses in coordination, but going around without a coat seemed to be helping a lot.

Every time Jinwoo said  _ I love you, _ Dongmin wanted to cry, because he was so sure those words were one step closer to death.

One night, while Jinwoo and Dongmin were curled around each other in the darkness, Jinwoo said,

“Do you still love me?”

Dongmin started. “What? Of course I love you.”

“You never say it anymore,” Jinwoo said.

Dongmin tugged Jinwoo around to face him. “It’s just — loving me is what’s killing you.”

“Is that why you never let me do nice things anymore? You never let me cook or do the washing up —”

“Because I’m worried about the heat —”

“You saying you love me and doing nice things for me won’t kill me,” Jinwoo said. “But if you don’t love me anymore —”

Dongmin silenced him with a kiss. “I love you. I do love you. I love you so much.” He pressed another kiss to Jinwoo’s face. “I love you to the moon and back.”

Jinwoo giggled softly. “Thank you. I missed hearing it.”

“I’m sorry,” Dongmin said. He held Jinwoo tightly. “Tomorrow, I’ll do something special for you, all right?”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Shin and Joonhee’s band is playing at a bar. Let’s go and listen and dance and have a good time, all of us,” Dongmin said.

“Minhyukie’s underage.”

“As far as the bouncer at the door is concerned, Minhyukie is a persocom.”

“True. Okay.”

“And after we can buy a little chocolate cake and exchange silver rings and make a wish, like any happy couple,” Dongmin said.

“Has it been a hundred days already?”

“Close enough,” Dongmin said, because he wasn’t sure they’d make it that far.

“All right.” Jinwoo smiled and kissed Dongmin on the tip of his nose, and then he closed his eyes.

Dongmin did the same, but it took him a long, long time to fall asleep.

* * *

“You finally made it!” Joonhee was so excited to see them. He ruffled Jinwoo’s hair affectionately.

Shin just nodded coolly, one arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders.

Luckily, this was a bar where just about anything went, so once the band started up and Myungjun jumped up and danced with Bin and Dongmin danced with Jinwoo, nobody cared, because they were hardly the only ones dancing with their persocoms.

Minhyuk was looking a little nervous, dancing with one of Shin’s girlfriend’s friends, because she was a college woman, but she just smiled and called him cute, and he relaxed.

On one slow ballad, Dongmin and Jinwoo kept dancing among the other couples, and even if they were the only human persocom-couple out there, no one cared.

And then Joonhee said, “This next song is for my Natasha, the love of my life. And for it, I need some assistance. So, Jinwoo, come on up here.”

Jinwoo climbed onto the stage amidst cheers and coos and perched on Joonhee’s cajon, and Shin began to play his acoustic guitar, and Joonhee began to sing.

Dongmin swayed along and, after a moment, flipped on the light on his phone and began to wave it back and forth. Soon others took up the gesture. As much as he wanted to record the moment, he knew he could get it from Minhyuk or Bin, and he wanted to  _ be _ in this moment with Jinwoo, who was playing along, wearing a soft, pleased smile.

When the song ended, the crowd burst into applause, and Jinwoo took his bows, and then he went to climb off the stage, but Shin said, 

“Before you go, there is one thing you should do for us.”

“Me?” Jinwoo asked.

“You and your friends should sing for us. The song that you wrote.”

“You mean...Bloom? But we don’t have any —”

“Strings?” Shin asked, as a dozen students with violins and cellos climbed onto the stage.

“Come on,” Dongmin said, and he beckoned to the others. Before he went, he handed his phone to Shin’s girlfriend. “Will you please film this for us?”

She nodded and smiled, flashed him an okay sign, and Dongmin climbed onto the stage with the others.

Shin’s bandmates set up microphones for them.

“But what about Sanha?” Jinwoo asked.

Sanha climbed onto the stage. “I’m here.”

Dongmin said, “I promised I’d do something nice for you.”

Jinwoo blinked at him, and for a moment Dongmin was terrified that he was going to cry, but then the strings started, and Dongmin listened for his cue.

And he sang his heart out.

When the final chorus arrived, Dongmin gave it his all, and when the song ended, the audience was on its feet, cheering and applauding and hollering for an encore.

Jinwoo was beaming as bright as the sun, and Dongmin was so, so glad.

They all took their bows, and Dongmin thanked Shin and his bandmates and classmates for helping with the performance, and they hopped off the stage while Shin and his bandmates took an intermission and helped their classmates clear off the stage.

“How was it?” Dongmin asked Jinwoo, guiding him into a secluded corner. “How did it feel, sharing your music like that?” 

Jinwoo hugged him tightly, nestled under his chin. “It was amazing. Thank you so much.”

“I love you,” Dongmin whispered.

Jinwoo held him tighter for just a moment, and then they separated.

At the end of the night, they went their separate ways. Minhyuk was going to spend the night at Bin and Myungjun’s, so he waved farewell, and Dongmin and Jinwoo headed for their bus stop.

On the way, it started to rain, icy, freezing pelts.

Dongmin and Jinwoo ran for the bus stop and huddled under the shelter.

“We should get an umbrella,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo nodded. “I can get it. I don’t mind the cold.”

“No, stay here,” Dongmin said. “I’ll be fine.”

Jinwoo smiled at him. “Thank you. I’ll just work on one of my songs till you get back.” He fished his song journal out of his backpack and sat back.

“Love you,” Dongmin said, and darted in for a kiss before he dashed for the convenience store they’d passed.

Of course, they were almost out of umbrellas, the umbrellas were an exorbitant amount, but Dongmin didn’t mind, because then he and Jinwoo would be sheltered for their walk to the apartment from the bus stop. 

Dongmin unfurled the umbrella and hurried back to the bus stop, though this time he didn’t have to run.

When he got there, Jinwoo was resting against the side of the bus shelter, his eyes closed, chin to his chest. Dongmin stared at him.

“J-Jinwoo?” He reached out to shake him and saw Jinwoo’s journal open on his lap.

Written on the page were the words  _ Dongminnie, I love you. _

The umbrella fell from Dongmin’s limp grasp.

He sank to the ground, sobbing.

* * *

If Sanha in slacks and a turtleneck had been a disconcertingly adult and professional sight, Sanha in a white lab coat with a Fantagio logo on the pocket was even more unsettling.

Jinwoo was laid on a cold metal lab table, too like a morgue slab for Dongmin’s comfort. Jinwoo was wearing a gray jumpsuit with the Fantagio logo on it, just like the one he’d come to Dongmin wearing, but his eyes were closed, and his hands were clasped around his journal, which was cradled close to his chest.

“Will he ever wake up?” Dongmin asked.

“He’s the persocom equivalent of brain dead,” one of the other technicians said. “But we have his code, so that’s what counts.”

Sanha hissed, and the woman looked up and saw Dongmin and winced.

Dongmin nodded. “Could you copy his code and put it into a new persocom?”

“Maybe one day,” Sanha said. “But until there’s a processor available that can handle, well, love, or we fix the code bug for love, he stays as he is. And even if we do manage to upload his code successfully into a new persocom, there’s no telling what he lost in the final meltdown.”

Dongmin swallowed hard. “Okay. I understand. Thank you. I’ll just be going now.” And he turned and fled from the sterile white-and-metal lab.

He went to Myungjun’s house with a case of soju, and he got drunk.

His apartment was empty without Jinwoo, and his life was empty without Jinwoo, and his heart was empty without Jinwoo, and Dongmin didn’t have anything to fill the emptiness with except work. And drink.

He took a semester off from school without telling his parents and worked all day and drank and cried all night.

One day, he wasn’t sure how many days into it, Minhyuk knocked on his door (Madam Jeon had been right; the memories at the restaurant were too much).

“Hey. I thought you might want this.” He held out a little envelope.

“What is this?” Dongmin asked.

Minhyuk pressed it into his hands. “Just check it out.” And he spun on his heel and dashed up the stairs and into the spring evening.

Dongmin retreated into his apartment and stared at the envelope for a long time.

His heart crawled into his throat when he recognized the handwriting on the other side of it.

Jinwoo’s. Who’d have known that persocoms would have unique handwriting, same as humans?

Dongmin opened it carefully, so as not to tear into the handwriting, and shook the envelope’s contents onto his hand.

A single flash drive.

With Jinwoo gone, all Dongmin had to get by was the tablet. He had to do some finagling to connect the flash drive to it, and then —

He heard his own voice.

Singing.

When had he sung this?

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

_ You’re trapped in a stopped time and exhausted _

_ Lost in the darkness _

If only his naive past self had known what he’d be like now.

Dongmin wanted to laugh.

He was so tired of crying.

And then he heard Jinwoo’s voice, and he did start to cry.

_ Don’t be afraid now, I’ll be there for you,  _ his past self sang.

_ I will always be the light that shines on you, _ Myungjun sang.

It was really Jinwoo who was saying that, though, wasn’t it? Because this was a song he’d written. 

The song was brilliant, visceral, but also pop-sweet and light and flowing, with a catchy bass line and rhythm. Minhyuk and Jinwoo had done amazing things with their rap parts. Minhyuk’s speed and flow were beyond impressive.

Jinwoo had made such amazing music. He should have been around to make so much more.

And then the song ended, and Dongmin cried harder.

“Hey,” Jinwoo said. “Don’t cry.”

Dongmin looked up sharply and cast about, wiping at his face quickly. But he was alone in his apartment.

“I can’t imagine how hard this time is for you right now,” Jinwoo said. “I love you so much, and I would never want to be without you, and I don’t want you to suffer without me.”

He’d left Dongmin a message after the song.

“But don’t waste your life missing me. You loved me because you could see beyond the fact of me being a persocom. You could see I was a person, and you could see that others like me are people.”

“I still love you,” Dongmin whispered.

“Others like me need your help, and if Sanha’s experiment succeeds, a whole new generation of persocoms who truly are people will need their freedom. They’ll need you to fight for them. So study hard, and don’t miss me. I still love you. I understand if you still love me — after all, I am very handsome.”

Dongmin laughed a little hysterically. Even then, Jinwoo had been making jokes, trying to make Dongmin feel better.

“I’m me, just Jinwoo, who likes being your hyung most of all, loving you and taking care of you. But now you need to take care of yourself, and be a hyung to someone else, like Minhyukie. But I’m always here, like a light. Don’t forget me. I’ll never forget you.”

“Which is it? Either don’t miss you, or don’t forget you,” Dongmin said.

Jinwoo said, “Dongminnie, I love you.”

And the message ended.

Dongmin listened to the song again. And he listened to the message again.

He listened to them both over and over again till he had both of them memorized.

Then he gave the rest of his soju to his upstairs neighbor, and he tapped at his tablet and enrolled himself in classes for the next semester.

The next day, he called Myungjun.

“Hey.”

“You’re not hungover,” Myungjun said cautiously.

“Um. I don’t have Minhyuk’s number. But tell him thank you. And thank you, too. I’m sure you’re the one who made sure he had a copy of the recording,” Dongmin said.

“You’re welcome,” Myungjun said.

“I’m going back to school next semester, and I’m never drinking again.”

“That’s good.”

“Thanks for not giving up on me.”

“You better become the best lawyer ever and rescue me when I get arrested down the road,” Myungjun said.

“I don’t think I’m going to become that kind of lawyer,” Dongmin said.

Myungjun huffed. “Fine. But welcome back to the real world.”

Dongmin closed his eyes and imagined Jinwoo’s bright smile. “Thanks. It’s good to be back.”

* * *

_ Five years later _

“Dongmin, you cannot possibly get him convicted for murder,” Mido said. “He destroyed a persocom.”

Dongmin pushed a file toward her. “Read this. Affidavits from Professor Hong Baekkyun from Santa Maria Engineering and Dr. Yoon Sanha from Fantagio Computers. Persocoms capable of the level of emotional output that that persocom was are, under the law,  _ in pari materia _ with humans, and so he killed someone who was essentially a human.”

“He’s going to appeal it.”

“I have lesser included charges for destruction of property.”

“You can’t get both,” Mido said.

“Sure I can,” Dongmin said. “Watch me.”

Mido squinted at him. “It’s because of your damn handsome face. Juries believe anything you say.”

“Look, the jury can definitely find for destruction of property. That’s a no-brainer. But if they also agree that the persocom in question met the definition of a human, then it’s also murder,” Dongmin said.

Mido huffed. “Fine. Good luck.” She scooped up the file and walked away with it at least.

Dongmin rolled up his sleeves and scooped the next file off the stack.

His email inbox pinged with a new message.

Unlike everyone else in the prosecutor’s office, he used a tablet and keyboard, not a persocom. 

Offer from Fantagio Computers?

_ Sweepstakes! Enter to Win! No Purchase Necessary! _ was the subject line.

Dongmin went to delete it, but then, out of a sense of nostalgia, opened it.

And stared at the picture of Jinwoo, smiling and holding out a tray of homemade pepero.

_ The Jinjn Pro: Now updated with the latest feature - Pepero Making! _

Was this some kind of joke?

Dongmin scrolled to the bottom of the email with shaking hands.

_ We found a new processing core. Coming soon to a store near you — Park Jinwoo, the persocom of your dreams! _

It was signed, simply, YSH.

Yoon Sanha.

There was a post-script:  _ Get down to the lab now. We’re going to wake him up. _

Dongmin grabbed his keys and ran.

**Author's Note:**

> The Noraebang Playlist:
> 
> Eunwoo mentioned on an episode of Master in the House that he likes FTIsland, so: [Wind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhPOwcvhGSA) \- FTIsland
> 
> [Papercuts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jMa3EgZZwg) \- EXO CBX (the live version is sadder)
> 
> [Thorn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lsOUVTvVU4k) \- Buzz (MJ cover)
> 
> Dance References:
> 
> [Moving Mountains](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EK8_Ou0OgFE) \- Rocky's dance cover
> 
> [Golden Disk Awards dance practice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYc-PLwjuAw) \- Rocky and Jinjin
> 
> Songs Jinwoo wrote:
> 
> [Bloom](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AMaLZbQicms) \- Astro
> 
> [Lights On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5vxMbsn3ChA) \- Astro


End file.
